Static
by OrangePlum
Summary: Breathless Sequel. Arthur always thought that the incident with Alfred's arms would forever be the biggest hurdle their friendship would face. But as the looks change and the touches linger, it becomes frightfully clear that he was dead wrong about that.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Notes: _

Where _Breathless_ was a story of subtleties, this story will be the exact opposite. I wrote _Breathless_ with this continuation in mind, but kept the relationship between Arthur and Alfred neutral, so if someone wished to see them platonically, it would work just that way; however, this sequel will be a hassle because of the tough transition I'm going to write about from friends to more. If you go back and re-read _Breathless_ with the thought that the two will come to like each other as more than friends, you will see how the plot was building up to this sequel. Anyway, this story will be a challenge.

If you haven't read _Breathless_, though, you won't understand this. So, seriously. I don't recommend starting this without reading _Breathless_.

The cover art, as well as the one done for _Breathless_, was done by Malsavaidity, or Heroic Pen here on this website. Go praise her gifted talents.

* * *

><p><em>Hey, Dad, look at me.<em>

_Think back and talk to me.  
><em>

_Did I grow up according to plan?  
><em>

- Simple Plan, Perfect

* * *

><p>"Are you pulling up yet?"<p>

"_Yeah, I just got out of the airport. Fuckin' nightmare that was! I spent forever at baggage claim with a stitch in my neck._"

I smiled at the exhausted groan in Alfred's voice, quickly rinsing off the knife in my hands as I balanced my cell phone between my neck and shoulder. "What's wrong with your neck?"

Alfred huffed and I heard some honking in the background before there was some clothing rustling. I vaguely heard Alfred tell someone to suck his balls before he came back on the line. "_Asshole_," he grumbled quickly, most likely at the horrible traffic that stuck around the airport like old bubblegum to a loafer. "_I couldn't move the entire plane ride, dude. I was squished between this obese couple from Texas who went in a horrible amount of detail why marmalade is underappreciated as a condiment. So I had to sit stiff as a board through the first flight and the connecting one. I swear, sometimes I forget why it's worth it_."

I laughed and turned the tap water off, quickly shooing Peter away when he bothered me with something about when the food would be ready. "Because your parents love you?" I offered semi-helpfully. I felt my fingers flex hesitantly over the cutting board where various vegetables were now cut up for the stew on the stove. I felt stupid for the heavy feeling mucking around in my stomach, not allowing me to say what I wished to say. I did it anyway on an awkward whim.

"… Because you miss me?"

Alfred paused in whatever he was doing on the other side of the line. I had intended for my words to come out in a joke, but I wasn't confident if it worked or not. In my ears it only sounded like heavy white noise. Whatever the case, Alfred recovered quickly with a cheerful laugh.

"_Haha! You trying to flatter yourself? If I needed someone to ride my ass I coulda just stayed in the dorm with those stupid 'self-appointed hall monitors.'"_

I choked briefly on my spit, feeling my heartbeat radiate in my temples at Alfred's poor choice of words. I abruptly dumped the vegetables in the stew, stirring vigorously. "I don't nag you," I denied.

Alfred yawned heavily. "_If by 'you don't nag me' you mean that you do, then yes, you don't nag me_."

I rolled my eyes. He was such a dick sometimes. But despite that, I couldn't help but smile again when he continued to yawn into his phone. "Whatever you say, Alfred. I should probably let you go."

Alfred sniffed briefly before sounding confused. "_Eh? Why's that?_"

"You sound like you're about to pass out. Get some sleep, you dolt."

Alfred assured me that he was making an obscene hand gesture at me before allowing himself to take a quick nap while he caught a wink in the cab. He'd be home in forty anyway. "_See ya soon, Art._"

"Welcome back, Alfred," I muttered fondly before removing my phone and ending the call. I placed it on the countertop and stared at it for a moment, allowing my thoughts their freedom to fly about in every which way.

Alfred had flown back into town for the holidays after his very first semester at Brown. He had been gone for nearly five months so it was reasonable to say that I was eager for him to arrive. We were best friends, after all.

I tapped my finger carefully against the green marble and furrowed my eyebrows somewhat. Yes, Alfred had been going to college on the East Coast while I continued to work up enough money to go to college next year, myself, but… My fingernail scraped against the corner of the counter and I twitched. _But _it was strange. It was too strange, and even I could tell that Alfred felt it too. Ever since that night in the park where Alfred had called me out to confess all of his fears and confusion, our friendship seemed strained. Something strange and odd was floating about the air whenever we talked on the phone or exchanged emails.

There was some sort of static that couldn't be dispersed between us.

It made me feel awkward.

It made me feel uneasy.

It made me nervous to be around my closest friend. That irritated me.

I jumped when Peter latched onto my leg and whined about his hunger. My pulse was fast under my skin as I stared down at the antsy child looking up at me, my body feeling troubled for some reason; I felt like I had been caught in the act of thinking something despicable. I quickly thawed my stiff joints and sighed, turning back to the stove.

"Give it a minute, Peter. I am not a wizard who can cook a meal in an unseemly short amount of time."

Peter looked away and grumbled. "Really? You always _burn it_ like you do…"

My mother scolded me the rest of the afternoon for the much justified welt on the back of Peter's head.

* * *

><p>Alfred dug into his burger like a starved animal given a feast. I felt a lingering hint of repulsion at the scene but ignored it, choosing to eat the french-fries on my tray instead. I couldn't help it; that was the only thing in these disgusting fast food restaurants that I would remotely touch. I didn't know why it appealed to Alfred so.<p>

"I missed this place!" he said with a mouth full. I grimaced when a few chunks hit my cheeks. He apologized as I wiped them away with a napkin. "Homemade burgers are the best!"

"If you say so," I surrendered, taking a sip from my iced tea and looking about the eatery. This was the first place Alfred and I had stepped foot out in public together, the place where I had been treated to a meal by Alfred despite how great our differences were. Even now it was still uncomfortable. One of the employees used to be on the football team with Alfred. I had pretended not to notice Alfred flinch when walking in the door as the two made eye-contact.

Alfred cocked his head as he looked at me, washing down his mouthful with a curious stare. "You okay? You've been quiet all morning."

I shut my eyes for a second before looking back at him, a wave of something foreign lurking beneath the surface of my skin. He just blinked in response. "I'm just a little tired is all," I reassured him.

Alfred chewed his bite slowly before grinning at me confidently. "What? You toss and turn in excitement all night long waiting to see me today?"

I really wished he wouldn't word his sentences that way. I sighed heavily through my nose and flicked a fry at him with a smirk. "Don't flatter yourself."

"It's not flattery if it's true."

I flicked another fry, harder this time. It got him to shut up.

"So how is the college life treating you? Itty, bitty Alfred must be wetting his pants now that he's wearing his big-boy shoes," I joked dryly, raising an eyebrow expectantly at him. He frowned and swallowed heavily, rolling his eyes in the process.

"It's okay. The classes are hard and it's a lot colder over there, but there are fun places to go in town and – and the people are nice," he said, but I caught it. Our gazes lingered as I sipped and he chewed. He knew what I was aiming at after all.

"That's fantastic," I commented without any enthusiasm. "Make any new friends?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "A few."

"Good friends?"

"A little."

"Girlfriends?"

He shot a scowl at me for 2.3 nanoseconds – long enough to make me shocked that he had made such an unexpectedly sour face – before it was gone. Perhaps it didn't even happen… Alfred shrugged again and finished off his burger, wiping his fingers haphazardly against his jeans. "The people are nice," he reaffirmed.

I nodded and placed my drink down, balancing my chin in my palm and looking out into the sea of faces, most likely lingering high schoolers from our old school nearby. Christmas break had commenced anyway. It brought back familiar memories. I still wasn't sure if they were fond memories – when I was getting to know Alfred, I mean. Friendships usually didn't have that many hurdles early on, did they? I licked the top row of my teeth with a 'tsk.'

"They aren't giving you problems this time around?" I heard myself ask, though it didn't sound like my voice.

Alfred mulled this over for a long while before heaving a breath and leaning back lazily on his side of the booth, kicking his legs out like as stretching cat. I felt his heel brush against my shin, making me look at him. He wasn't looking at me, though. He was counting the dots on the ceiling. "They can't comment on what they don't know."

Spot on. I knew it.

I smiled at him. "You didn't tell anyone, did you?"

He stiffened and glanced down at me with lowered eyelids, perhaps pressing me to give him an excuse to be ticked off. I hadn't a clue why; it was just a feeling. "Who said I didn't?"

"Then you did?"

He kept his mouth shut before pushing forward and slumping against the table, his arms crossed against the plastic top as he leaned in and regarded me with a look too intense for this conversation. Was he mad, or was it something else? "Why should I?" he asked after a long silence, sounding nonchalant. "It's none of anyone's business anyway."

"It was just a question, Alfred," I said easily, not flinching or pulling back from how close he was to me leaning across the table. I wasn't going to be intimidated when we were just having a normal conversation. Well, normal for a suicide attempter and his savior.

"Well it's annoying, _Arthur_," he parroted in a mocking tone. It didn't bother me one bit.

I looked over Alfred's face for a long while, almost mapping it out since it had been so long since we 'chilled' as Alfred called it, and I could see the small twitches of muscle as Alfred started to slowly become self-conscious this close to another's face. I raised an eyebrow and extended my hand to rest on the material of his jacket that rested over his wrist. His blue eyes flickered down to the contact spot. I felt my fingers toy with the sleeve very gently before the words flowed out of my mouth like a ghost in the wind.

"No one's eyes are different enough to catch yours?" I asked honestly. I did recall being on that swing-set while Alfred confessed to being nervous about how the public would view him if they saw his arms. But even though such a thing should've made any close friend distraught, at the time I could only feel guilty for the tinge of elation I experienced when Alfred had told me that my eyes were different. He held me to a higher standard than the rest of the world, and my opinion always came out on top. A good friend shouldn't feel happy about something like that.

I still felt the pinprick of guilt to this day.

For Alfred's sake, he _needed_ to find another person whose eyes were special enough to watch him and make him comfortable. He couldn't afford to just trust me.

Alfred pulled away and made a face. "Ouch. Why'd you pinch me?"

I blinked, my thoughts scattering, before I awkwardly leaned back into my seat, averting my eyes. "I apologize," I muttered quickly.

Alfred ran his hand through his hair and slowly recoiled back into his seat, arm holding his wrist in that subconscious shield he wasn't aware he projected. "It's not that I don't want to tell anyone else… I _do_ want to. I'm not – I mean, you can understand why I'm taking my time with this, can't you?" He looked up at me then.

He was right. It had taken him a while to confide in me about this, let alone some stranger.

"You should do it before summer."

Alfred looked nonplused.

I elaborated by tugging at my own jacket sleeve in a gesture up to my elbow. "I hear it can get pretty hot over there if there's a heat wave." This was surely making Alfred uncomfortable as he fidgeted in his seat, but I just wanted to help. He needed to prepare himself if he ever wanted to accept his rocky past. "I'm not saying this to scare you –"

"I know," Alfred said, words clipped.

"… I'm sorry."

Alfred pursed his lips and peered at me beneath the hem of his bangs, looking guarded and suspicious. It was a bit uncomfortable, truthfully, to have Alfred looking at me like that. Had this whole distance thing affected our friendship? It had only been a handful of months. The apology was very broad, meant for anything that could've brushed Alfred the wrong way. He pondered it momentarily before finding some solace in it, shaking his head somewhat and giving me a lopsided smile.

"I stopped wearing them, you know." He tasted the words on his tongue. I wondered silently if this was the first time admitting it aloud. But as Alfred smiled a little sheepishly at me with that eager glint in his eyes, much like a kid showing their parent a picture they painted in school, I couldn't help but crumble. He looked so accomplished. "The…" he glanced down at his arms and back up, "You know. From the things you said, I don't wear them anymore. That's nice, yeah?"

On instinct I sat up, something swelling in my chest like a balloon as I smiled at him, reaching out and snatching one of his arms, my fingertips testing and grazing the skin beneath the fold of the jacket. "They're gone?" I couldn't believe Alfred had abandoned his safety net that was his bandages. When had he done this?

He hesitated with a flick of his eyes, smile wavering as he watched me. "Yeah. I figured it was time to get rid of them, right? That's one step forward, I think."

I wanted to ask if I could see. I wanted to, and I wasn't sure what Alfred's answer would be, but we both jumped when hearing something slam down against something hard. We both looked over to see one of Alfred's old football buddies staring at us, placing a stack of trays down on a garbage. I slowly realized where he was staring when Alfred jerked his arm back as if my touch was fire.

I jolted back instinctively and cleared my throat, turning away from the boy's lingering stare and started to pick at my food in front of me. Alfred kept his arm cradled at his side, vision directed uncomfortably out the window at the gray sky. It was painfully apparent how self-conscious Alfred still was about all this, reasonably so. Particularly around people who knew him as the popular king of high school who "belonged in a mental ward."

But as we continued the rest of our lunch, I found my mind drifting off into uncharted waters.

That look that had bestowed Alfred's face when the boy looked at us together…

Had that been from his insecurities about his infamous arms, or something of a different nature entirely?

My tongue felt heavy the rest of the day. I decided that I really didn't want to find out an answer to a question like that.

* * *

><p>Alfred had only been home for the weekend before I received a very upbeat text on my phone one evening. It appeared that his mother wanted our families to get together over dinner to catch up. I was confused for a moment, knowing that Alfred's mother never even bothered to meet my family before. But Alfred reassured me that she was just excited to see him again and wanted to be polite and converse with his best friend's family.<p>

I couldn't help but feel grateful and relieved that Alfred still called me his best friend, despite no indication that he considered me as anything less.

So I relayed this information to my own mother and thus began the worst weekend of my life.

"This is so exciting! American dinners together. Oh, why didn't I think of it?"

I sighed to myself as my mother chirped on to my father as we walked up Alfred's walkway to his door, each of our hands carrying some Tupperware for this meal. Peter trotted along beside me and became distracted as he kicked at the snow starting to line the Jones' household.

"No one has ever asked us before, mum," I told her.

"We need to get out more, darling," my father, equally excited, told my mother and smiled ear to ear. God, this was going to be embarrassing. It was like they never left their little hut that was our home. I hoped Alfred's parents wouldn't be surprised at how different they were compared to my parents. It was like Alfred and I were switched at birth or something. My parents suited him more than me, and vice versa.

I tried to save face when it was Matthew that opened the door. He peeked his head out shyly, as he was so prone to doing, before his eyes caught recognition when seeing me. He smiled and opened the door wider. "Hi, Arthur."

"Hello, Matthew," I said back just as pleasantly. "It's been some time, hasn't it?"

He nodded and ran his eyes over my family. "Since Alfred had left. These must be your parents," he muttered before my mother cut him off.

"Oh, he looks just like Alfred. Dear, doesn't he look like Alfred?"

I rolled my eyes as Matthew looked pinned to the spot when my mom looked so delighted. My father nodded and leaned in to get a better look. "My word, did Alfred clone himself? I know he went to Brown, but I didn't think that–"

"He didn't _clone_ himself," I cut in abruptly, feeling just as red in the face embarrassed as Matthew did. "Alfred has a twin brother. This is Matthew." Matthew weakly raised his hand up to wave upon my gesture. We watched as my parents exchanged a look before smiling and sticking out a hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, Matthew. You look so familiar that it's almost like we're family. Where's your brother? I'm dying to say hello." My mother shook Matthew's hand with a reassuring smile. I didn't know what Matthew was really thinking as he stared at her with big doe eyes, but he must've taken it in stride, for he smiled back and let out a small chuckle.

"We brought stew," my dad chirped as he followed after my mother and Matthew like a lost dog, leaving me to guide Peter inside and shut the door with a grimace. This was like graduation all over again, although this time there were no blaring horns or shouting British parents on the bleachers.

"Mrs. K! How's it been?" Alfred laughed, jumping up from his spot at the table when my mother poked her head in. I observed Alfred take the bowl from her and animatedly chat, waving his arms about as he talked about college, no doubt. I wanted to believe that Alfred liked my mother so much because she baked sweets so often, but I knew it was really because they both had a childish aura about them. And by the way Alfred's father gave a leveled stare from his seat at the table and Mrs. Jones's awkward stiffness in the corner of the kitchen, I knew the Kirklands and the Jones were complete opposites.

This would surely be a disaster.

"Hey mom, this is Arthur's parents. They ask about you all the time," Alfred supplied after giving my mom a hug and dad a firm handshake. Mrs. Jones looked mildly surprised, something she had every right to be. My parents rarely asked about Alfred's mother, let alone his family. But she looked flattered all the same when the surprise ebbed away.

"How do you do? It's nice to finally meet you so formally. Arthur is over here a lot. Well, at least when they were both in high school. And he is a delight," Alfred's mom explained, already getting teary-eyed from mentioning high school. Alfred shrugged at me from across the kitchen and I smiled. She was always like that when it came to Alfred and Matthew.

"Alfred is charming as well," my mother added quickly, as if the idea of a compliment competition was very appealing. "Whenever he's over, he is just darling. Not to mention how handsome he is. He's the spitting image of his father."

I glanced over at the gruff appearance of Mr. Jones reading a book at the table, the man glancing up briefly at the mention of him from another woman. He had a strange look about his face, almost as if there was a fly on his nose that he couldn't swat away, before he ignored the conversation and went back to reading. Alfred's father had always been a man of few words.

"And Arthur has your eyes," Mrs. Jones said, cheeks bright at her affiliation to someone as handsome as Alfred's father. I fidgeted and frowned. What the hell? I didn't want to be compared to my mother. No guy did, I surmised.

"And my jaw," my father quipped, looking proud for no particular reason.

As the kitchen became cluttered with noises of greetings and discussions, Alfred quickly wormed his way through and nudged my shoulder towards his bedroom. "Let's escape this before it gets even worse," he joked.

I followed after him and sat down on my regular spot by his bookcase as he shut the door. "They'll come get us when the grub is ready."

As Alfred got situated on his bed, I let myself look around his room freely, a little astounded that nothing had been moved. It looked the same as it did down to the day before his departure. It still even had the distinct smell of Alfred that I had come to identify over the months. I silently wondered if my room had a particular smell about it and if Alfred could tell.

Speaking of Alfred…

"Your folks looked… neutral," I spoke lamely.

Alfred laughed. "I told my mom not to do it. I knew this would be weird, but she still insisted."

"And you father didn't protest?" I asked, leaning back against the chair with a raised eyebrow making Alfred snort.

"The only things my dad cares about are successful children, football, and the stock market. Whatever else my mom does is up to her."

"Ah," I said with a sarcastic smile. "So that's why he looked so excited."

"You haven't seen nothing until you see him on her book club nights," Alfred grinned and propped himself back on his elbows. I couldn't help but smile at how absurd he was. Nevertheless, I would've been lying if I wasn't curious about how Alfred's father got the way he was. It really was a shame for his children.

"How has Matthew been, by chance?"

Alfred lolled his head back and looked up at his ceiling. "He's all right. Goin' to that community college on the outskirts of town. He said he's gonna transfer before he finishes next semester, though." Alfred pursed his lips and looked back at me oddly. "I just… I feel kinda bad, you know? It's like dad and ma squeezed every nickel out for me, but left Mattie with empty pockets."

"There are grants and other things out there for Matthew," I tried to explain, already knowing that Alfred felt guilty about this. Especially because he didn't want to go to an expensive college in the first place. "He knows that and so do you."

Alfred was quiet for a while. "Yeah, I guess so," he grumbled. "But it's still uncool that our pops decided to do that. I mean, that's like playing favorites or something."

And though I never admitted it aloud, I knew that Alfred's parents played favorites. And deep down, Alfred knew it to be true, too. Unfortunately, I was sure Matthew did as well. I saw Alfred's fingers briefly squeeze the material of his sheets before he rolled over and hopped off the bed, quickly changing the subject as he held up a game box.

"I got a new game from this dude named Kiku who lives in my dorm. It's about zombies in England," he said in a sing-song to tempt me.

I smirked at the challenge in his eyes and shook my head. "You had me at England."

* * *

><p>The dinner had gone well, for the most part. Of course, there were embarrassing stories exchanged, and at one point Alfred offered to off Matthew if he killed him in exchange. The glint in Matthew's eyes showed how tempted he was to take his brother up on that offer at a naked bathtub story, but he decided against it and ate his peas quietly.<p>

It appeared like our mothers were getting along, at least. Despite the differences in interests and personalities, they both looked like they were enjoying themselves. Mr. Jones and my father also got along, caught up in a debate over which sport should really be called football, American or English.

I ate simply and talked to Alfred about nothing in particular as we always did, just catching up. It was nice slipping back into old habits. I never really realized how much I'd missed Alfred until talking to him again. There were just certain people who had an effect on someone else like that.

Everything was going fine until about when the apple cobbler came along.

"So Matthew, how are you liking college?" my mother asked, taking a sip of the coffee Mrs. Jones placed down as she took the cobbler from the oven. She had already dissected Alfred's experiences away from home, so now, naturally, it was Matthew's turn. Poor boy.

He fiddled with his fork and bobbed his head. "It's okay. It's nice to get away from home and do something bigger," he admitted. I paused when seeing his vision flitter sideways to his father who shot him a look.

"As long as his grades are high, the school isn't wasted," Mr. Jones commented offhandedly, blue eyes looking at Alfred across the table. I tried to pick up on Matthew and Alfred's body language as their father sent some sort of secret message with his eyes. Perhaps it was an inside thing?

Mrs. Jones returned and placed the warm tart on the table, the smell filling the room. She smiled at her husband and patted his hand. "Now, honey."

"But it's good to enjoy it, too," my mom said reassuringly, smiling at Matthew.

"Who wants a piece?" Alfred's mom asked, handing out small, delicate plates. They were passed around as she began to cut the crust into smaller pieces.

"How are your grades, Matthew?" Mr. Jones asked distractedly, passing down another plate.

"Good, dad," Matthew sighed, readjusting the tablecloth on his side of the table. He picked at it for a moment, eyes tracing the edges.

"I heard that you were slacking in biology."

Alfred moved suddenly beside me, catching my attention. I glanced over at him and was confused to see his eyes boring into his plate, jaw set. I peered back at Matthew who mirrored his brother's image, almost exactly. Despite this I remained quiet and took a plate offered to me by my father.

"I'm not. It's nothing that I can't fix. This smells good, mom," he said, looking at Mrs. Jones who picked up her pace a little. She handed my mother a crisp piece and smiled.

"The semester is over. You can't fix what you already have been graded on. Why pay for classes when you're just going to skip them?"

I blinked and looked at how guilty Matthew appeared. Matthew skipped his biology class? He huffed and silently passed another piece of cobbler down the table.

"Oh dear. Was it too hard?" my mother asked genuinely.

"Sometimes the second time is the charm," my father finished.

"Time is money. It's just another round you have to go on and another shift you have to work. I didn't figure you to be a slacker, Matthew," Mr. Jones said lowly, an air of indifference coating his voice as he passed down another piece. I furrowed my brow slightly and glanced between Mrs. Jones's tight smile, to Alfred's sudden unease in Matthew's growing irritation. Apparently this subject was not a good topic. To anyone else it might've been, but to Matthew it was like being prodded at with a stick.

"I'll retake it," he muttered, looking at Alfred whose head was hunkered down in his shoulders, frown on his face as he watched his brother.

"It is not doing me any favors. It's not my money you are throwing away," Alfred's father said gruffly.

Matthew's fingers curled into the cloth painfully as he twisted his neck to glare at his father. "It's not a money thing! It's just because–!"

"Matthew!" Mrs. Jones's shrill voice reached my ears. She blinked back an alarmed expression gracing her face, her eyebrows pulled together with some distress as her eyes widened. She looked about ready to cry again, something that made Matthew recoil and stare back down at his plate.

The room was uncomfortably silent, my mother and father as still as a tepid lake, wondering if we had walked into another tense family moment. Should we dismiss ourselves? Intervene? This wasn't something secluded people like my parents knew how to deal with. Peter, on the other hand, sat quietly eating his dessert at the end of the table, still too young to quite comprehend the situation.

I rolled the lump in the back of my throat around before prodding Alfred on the waist. He barely looked at me, but understood the confusion on my face.

"It's fine, dear. He'll just retake the course. All better. Now who didn't get a slice?" Mrs. Jones asked, smiling as she started to chop at the pie without looking. Alfred rigidly turned in his seat as he stared at his mother with a sense of awe, slowly standing up from his chair and reaching out, fingers gently grasping one of her hands to halt her.

"Mom, you're bleeding," he said thickly.

We all stopped and looked over, Mrs. Jones stilling as well to slowly look down at her hand, a steady pool of crimson dripping from her fingers and onto the pie crust. She stared for a moment before looking around the awkward faces at the table.

"… W… Whoops. My hand must've slipped. I'm sorry. I'll just go- go get cleaned up," she said, words schlepping together as she tried to saunter away from the table, holding her other hand up to cover her mouth. Alfred jolted upright, looking deathly concerned as he grabbed onto her trembling shoulders and started to guide her out of the room.

I swallowed thickly and took a steadying breath when I heard the small sounds of sobs whisper out of the hallway. I could faintly hear Alfred trying to comfort her before the bathroom door clicked shut. When I twisted back around in my chair, the table was still silent, aside from Peter's sloppy munching.

I picked around my plate, occasionally glancing at my parents and Matthew, hoping someone would explain or at least say _something_.

After a long moment, I vaguely heard Alfred's father mutter something into a bite of his food, almost too soft to hear. "Another coward, just like his brother."

It was not until an hour later when Alfred was telling us goodbye as the sun set and the moths gathered around his porch lamp that he explained briefly about the dinner. I sat quietly the whole car ride home as I mulled over the fact that Matthew had stopped attending his biology course when his teacher committed suicide four weeks in.

That comment made more sense in context.

It seemed that it was still too early to shake Alfred of the ghosts of his past mistakes.

That made it hurt all the more.


	2. Chapter 2

_I just can't escape, it's like you're here with me now._

_But the words you say, they always seem to fade out.  
><em>

_Since you've been away, I'm just a face in the crowd.  
><em>

_Someday, someday, I know you're coming back down.  
><em>

- Hollywood Undead, Coming Back Down

* * *

><p>"I can talk about it."<p>

"No need."

"No, seriously, dude. I'm cool. I can talk."

I continued to use a great deal of effort to ignore Alfred as I stood awkwardly outside of the auto shop, arms coiled tightly around my sides as I shivered near painfully. Alfred mirrored my image to my right, frowning petulantly at me for the past thirty minutes. Stupid car breaking on the stupid freeway off-ramp. Practically gave me a heart attack.

"It's fine," I muttered offhandedly, peering into the greasy shop at my car being tinkered with, much like a surgeon toying around a chest cavity as if to say, "Well, we'll never know what's wrong till we plunge inside."

Alfred didn't seem to like my constant refusal to his assurances. "_Arthur_," he said, and the emphasis on my name made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I couldn't help but spare him a glance. "I _want_ to talk about it," he insisted.

I snorted.

Alfred bristled.

"What the fuck was that? I'm tryin' to tell you about Matt's dinner drama and you don't wanna hear it. What happened to the whole 'listening ear' shit you claimed to be so good at?"

I sighed heavily and adjusted my coat collar against the chilly air. He really was obnoxiously persistent. "I don't do it when you're lying."

It was Alfred's turn to snort in disbelief. "How am I lying?"

God, it was getting harder and harder to humor him nowadays. Regardless, being the astounding friend that I was, I smiled tightly at him as he raised his eyebrows at me. "Oh, I don't know, how about the tenseness in your shoulders for starters – ah, ah. I can already see it in your neck and jaw," I chided apathetically as Alfred self-consciously went to hide his throat behind one of his hands. It dropped before it even got halfway up and I grinned. "What else…? Oh, yes. The tone of your voice could give you away, or even that nervous tick you seemed to have developed that keeps you glancing away every thirty bloody seconds. It could possibly also be the rings of purple under your eyes because you haven't been sleeping well over this and _maybe _even that you keep chewing at your fingernails like you're a fucking beaver. Or – _I don't know_ – the fact that you avoid the subject of _suicide_ like the God damn plague. Sound about right? These ringing any bells, Alfred?"

Alfred flinched as my tone grew louder and colder, an auto shop technician behind him looking up curiously before going back inside the garage. My scowl tugged at my lips as I wrapped my arms around my body tighter to prevent my shivers from turning violent.

It was quiet a long moment, enough for me to gain my bearings and realize that I unintentionally let loose the cap to my own personal jar of issues. I felt somewhat humiliated at allowing Alfred to hear some personal demons of mine that I never wanted him to know about.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I went too far," I muttered after Alfred refused to retort, my voice coated with remnants of shame.

Alfred shifted beside me and fought to keep a steady expression of indifference. I could tell what was underneath, though; he was trembling slightly with what was most certainly anger or any emotion of the like. The dreaded s-word tended to do that to him.

Whoopsie daisy, that one was my bad, wasn't it?

"If you want to talk about it, do so," I relinquished with a sigh.

"No, no. I don't have to," he said all too quickly.

I promptly rolled my eyes and looked full-on at my friend, mentally coaxing him to look back at me. To my surprise, he did. I hoped it didn't show on my face and continued on. "Please, I want to know. Go on and say it."

"No thanks."

I frowned at him with a shrug of my shoulders, my attention going back to the work being done on my car. "Suit yourself, then," I responded stubbornly.

I knew Alfred would break, it was just a matter of when. He had never been very good at staying silent for too long. Apparently it was something comforting to Alfred for him to discuss recent events plaguing his house, but I just didn't like talking about the topic of self-inflicted injuries. Reasonably so, considering last year. It was just odd about Alfred's sudden openness to the whole thing.

I frowned. Sort of made me wonder what I had missed when he left me here and took off to school.

"Jeez, Arthur, _fine_. If you really need to know I'll tell you. You're so nosy sometimes!" Alfred blurted with false aggravation after ten minutes. I halted the quirking of my lips at the corners.

"I apologize. I don't mean to pry."

Alfred snorted. "You liar." His faux irritation dissipated as he spun on me, all wide-eyed and energized. He had my full attention with a look like that. "Okay, okay, so it's been stupid, right? I thought going away to school was going to be easier. You know, easier than, uh, than what happened in… than high school and…"

"Yes, continue," I goaded, understanding that it was still hard for Alfred to vocal exactly what he had done to himself nearly a year ago.

"But then I stopped getting letters from my mom and Matt and stuff so I knew something was kinda strange. I didn't really know about Matt's teacher until I got home, myself. If I knew, Arthur, really, I honestly would have–" Alfred looked at me in a way as if hoping for me to understand around his ineloquent words.

"I don't blame you for that. It might've made the awkward moment more bearable, but I don't think that could've been avoided. Matthew obviously never had enough time to get over what happened to- what happened."

Alfred caught the slip-up, much to my chagrin. We both weren't fools to the fact that Alfred's one selfish mistake could possibly have broken his family beyond complete repair. And how much this affected his brother without Alfred noticing, well, that was the crap cherry on top of Alfred's shit cake.

His eyebrows furrowed a little and his frown deepened. He broke eye-contact and stared intently at the mechanics before running his hands roughly up his face and through his hair, pivoting his feet slightly and facing the traffic on the road behind us.

"_Fuck_ – I really messed up with this!"

I watched awkwardly as Alfred rubbed the heel of his palms deeply in his eye-sockets and silently continued his self-loathing.

Really, now. What was a person to say in a situation like this? Despite my previous relations with Alfred I was really lacking in experience in the whole 'suicide recovery' thing.

After a long moment I finally managed to swallow the heavy ball in the back of my throat and take a step forward, reaching out to place an unsure hand on Alfred's shoulder. He glanced up at me just then and I recoiled mid-reach as if shocked. He blinked at me curiously under the haze of some emotion I couldn't quite place my finger on. It made my mouth go dry.

"Alfred, I… Alfred-"

"Yo, boys! Which one of you's Kirkland?"

We both jumped and turned to see an oily looking man sticking his head out of the garage, thick accent dripping with more than just grammar inaccuracies. He removed the dew rag from his balding head and wiped his beefy hands with it. I hesitantly shared a glance with Alfred before turning my attention to him.

"Yeah, that's me."

He grinned a cocky half-smirk before gesturing his head back into the dimmed archway with gutted cars. My stomach coiled uncomfortably.

"We got a problem."

* * *

><p>"<em>Five thousand dollars<em>?" Alfred blurted out in surprise, eyes wide and mouth agape as he held my receipt in his hand. He looked back at my horror-struck expression as if needing confirmation. I was near catatonic, it wasn't like he was going to get anything from me. "Five? Like five of these babies?" he motioned with a wide open palm, fingers dancing as he wiggled them.

I nodded mechanically.

He whistled and pulled the paper further from his face, like that would really change the outcome of my bill. "Look at all those zeros, man."

Oh, I knew how many zeros there were.

"How the hell are you gonna pay for this, dude? Your car's already a piece of shit. You're seriously gonna dump five grand in there?" Alfred asked, kneeling down carefully in front of me, my motionless body sitting in a cheap plastic chair in the automotive office. He looked sincerely at me behind his glasses and pursed his lips.

I opened my mouth once with no sound coming out before I finally managed my voice. "Work the corner, I suppose," came the vague, hollow reply that sounded so distant, like I was underwater.

Alfred snorted with only a small amount of real humor. "Then you either have to work every night till you're thirty or be one helluva good lay."

I might've attempted a chuckle but I couldn't be too sure at the moment.

Engine troubles or something. Completely shot. Nothing salvageable. I couldn't quite remember his exact words under the ocean of no no _no_ covering my brain.

I couldn't pay for this.

"Can you pay for this?"

I balked at Alfred's face. He merely rocked back on his heels with an uncomfortable shrug. "Guess not…" Alfred clucked his tongue against his teeth and patted at his thighs before standing up, knees groaning at the sudden movement. "What're you gonna do, Arthur?" he asked me seriously.

Even in my daze I had to utter a realistic response, though it really didn't sink in until we left the shop and I collapsed ass-first on the sidewalk curb.

"Public transportation's always good."

* * *

><p>Public transportation was very much <em>not<em> good. The buses never ran on time, the driver was an irritable man who I had a large suspicion was under the influence seventy percent of the time (and I was being generous and low-balling it), the seats were dirty and covered with questionable substances, and the vehicle contained no small amount of perves, weirdos, and possible convicted - or soon to be - felons.

Needless to say, I was immeasurably grateful when Alfred offered to be my ride until I paid off my money shredder on wheels, regardless of the week he watched me drown in horrified misery on the city buses, much to his amusement.

"_Someone really tried to pee on you?_" I recalled him saying as he nearly broke a rib in his merriment.

Ha ha, public urination combined with indecent exposure at eleven o'clock at night was _hilarious_. I was positively _laughing_ all the way to my door even as the taste of bile on the back of my tongue and the smell of old asparagus reached my nose.

Damn homeless swarms.

In the meantime I was just content enough to have flexible mobility once more.

I opened Alfred's red truck door and clambered inside, muscles easily melting when I felt the warm air of the heater on my face. Alfred grinned over at me, eyebrow raised at my pink nose and cheeks. I could tell he withheld the urge to make a joke about it and I appreciated it greatly. He had already been fifteen minutes late picking me up from my closing shift and I had been forced to wait outside in the cold, I didn't want to have to deal with good-natured taunting.

Thank heaven for small mercies.

"Bringin' home that bacon?" Alfred mused as he started the car up again and rotated his wheel to lead us back out onto the nearly empty streets. The city never seemed to have that many people out at one in the morning, the holidays upon us or not.

I huddled deep into myself and placed my nearly frostbitten fingers right against the heater vent. "Something like that."

Alfred clicked his blinker on at a stop sign, almost indiscernibly bobbing his head to the soft lull of "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree" playing from the radio. I was surprised he could manage to keep up with the tune when I could hardly hear the sound coming out at all.

"What took you so long?" I asked conversationally. It was better than the hum of his engine and the silence of the night around us.

Alfred didn't bother taking his eyes from the dark road, a flash of headlights passing us reflecting off his glasses. "Fell asleep."

I cocked my head to the side curiously at him. "You were asleep?"

Alfred fidgeted uncomfortably under my incredulous gaze. "Yeah. Is that a crime? It _is_ the middle of the night, genius."

"No. It's just surprising. You used to stay out all night long when we were in high school, I recall."

Alfred scrunched his nose up with a stunted laugh deep down in his chest, pulling up to a stop at an intersection, fingers flexing over the steering wheel as he looked at me from the corner of his eyes. "I can't really stay in those habits anymore when my grades are my money... Well, my dad's money. Doesn't mean that I don't go out and do stuff late at night anymore. I'm picking you up, aren't I?" he asked, finishing with a deep belly yawn.

"Yes, and you lead a very exciting life because of it," I mused sarcastically.

The light switched to green and yet we still idled behind the limit line. I chanced a peek over my shoulder to see no other vehicles in the vicinity before looking back up at the green stop light. "It's green."

The truck continued to purr in the same place, no movement being beckoned whatsoever as Alfred kept his gaze steady and refused to move his foot from the brake. I shifted and looked at him, gesturing with a wave of my hand at the light."Alfred, it's green. Go."

"I don't do anything exciting anymore? You think I'm not 'spur of the moment' anymore?" he asked, though it was more of a verbal ponder. He pulled the shifter protruding from the steering wheel down, placing his arm behind my headrest and looking behind us as we backed up quickly. I jolted in my seat under the pull of the seatbelt, eyes darting in confusion towards my friend. "Fuck that."

In that instant we shot forward, doing a very much illegal u-turn as Alfred made his way back down the street we had just come from. I bolted upright and braced my hands on the dashboard, eyes zipping to Alfred's grinning face with a sense of dread.

"What are you doing?"

"Something fun, like you wanted."

"I didn't mean _right now_. I just want to go home."

"And you will," he said, laughing as we jostled over a pothole and I gripped at the seat. "Just after we do something spontaneous."

"Alfred, there's ice on the road- Slow down," I ordered, the unease spreading like an infection in an open wound when Alfred's truck turned off on a backroad, dirt ghosting around the vehicle as we drifted further and further away from city life and ever deeper into unknown darkness of the countryside surrounding us. I vaguely wondered if Alfred knew where he was going the father out we got, the only lights truly visible being his headlights over the shrubbery and grass.

"Alfred, I'm serious. This is-"

"Fun? Exciting?" he prompted.

Crazy and juvenile were more like it. I hadn't meant anything personal when I said that Alfred wasn't as impulsive as he had been in high school. I actually _preferred_ him not calling me in the middle of the night just to chat or crawling in my window half-drunk from a friend's party.

I shook my head stiffly and took a few steadying breaths when we had been driving up a steep hill for close to ten minutes. I had no idea where we were or if this cheap little dirt road could support a truck this large, what with Alfred's side wheels almost drifting over the side of the road with every turn.

"It's-"

And then something caught my eye in the glint of his headlights, something sparkling and like a diamond. I blinked and leaned forward when another glinted off to the side. My head tilted up in awe as I looked towards the starry night sky and saw the small sparkles multiply, catching in the shine of Alfred's car. He seemed to slow his pace when he noticed what had gotten me suddenly silent, his blue eyes widening somewhat at the sight.

"Snowing," I muttered, feeling beside myself. I knew that it snowed here occasionally, but I'd never once gotten to actually see it fall. It was always just lining our driveway when I woke up in the mornings. I gazed in wonder out the passenger window at the small slivers of ice falling from the sky, resembling the puffs of dandelions on a summer afternoon. Only it was a thousand times better than that, so much so that it had my complete attention and I didn't notice that we weren't moving anymore.

I looked over at Alfred who was staring out the front of his car, the falling snowflakes making their appearance in the light reflecting off Alfred's glasses. I turned to see what he was looking at and blinked, eyebrows pulling into my hairline when I caught sight of the city below us, all the lights of the houses and businesses dancing and twinkling like some broken Christmas lights. An overlook point.

The only real word that could come to mind to describe such a view with the snow falling around us was "wow."

"I know, right," Alfred said, sounding almost in a daze.

Had I said that aloud? I didn't remember opening my mouth. "How did you find this?" I asked seriously, craning my head to get a better look at Alfred, the back of his hair still sticking up from the nap he had apparently taken before getting me.

Alfred hesitated a moment before shrugging. "Mattie and I used to come up here with our dad when we were little. I didn't really remember it until a few weeks ago so I decided to check it out. I dunno. I thought you might like it. Not really sure why."

I chewed at my lip for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling in my chest at Alfred allowing me to breach a secret place only he and his brother really knew about. I don't know why it was a big deal to me - I wasn't even sure it was a big deal to Alfred - but in that moment with the world glowing beneath us and the sky littered with the falling snow, Alfred's stupid grin he was sharing with me was still the most eye-catching display on the hill.

The heater wasn't needed anymore; it was plenty warm already.

* * *

><p>It was a week till Christmas with the smell of pine and cinnamon over the roaring fires in the fireplaces when I got the phone call.<p>

My parents were busy with making dinner and wrapping Peter's presents in their bedroom while I finished up watering the Christmas tree stuffed in the corner of the living room. God, I hated that tree. The needles still made my skin itch every time I touched it. But Peter was always a whiny child and missing out on a real tree in the house wouldn't change that fact at all. We had tried one year and the kid nearly blew a gasket.

"Arthur, when you're done can you help me with this?" my father called from the crack in his bedroom door. I raised an eyebrow in amusement at him, already getting a glimpse of tape and paper stuck to his shirt and hands.

"Sure, dad. Give me a sec."

I stepped away from the tree and made to put the watering cup in the sink when my cell phone started to ring. I furrowed my brow, not really expecting any calls today, when I pulled the device from my pocket, the display reading _Calvin Jones_. Alfred's house?

"Hello?" I replied when opening my phone, leaning my hip against the counter when waiting for a response. To my surprise it was Alfred's mom.

"Arthur? This is Arthur, right? Oh, I didn't dial the wrong number again, did I? Did you give me the wrong number?" she said, her voice pulling away for a moment to speak to someone in the room with her. A muffled reply was met before she talked back through the speaker. "Arthur?"

"Hi, Mrs. Jones. How are you doing?" My voice was as careful and polite as could be. The last time I saw her had been at the dinner and I still didn't know if she was feeling up to talking to people yet. Well, obviously she was (duh) or she wouldn't be calling me.

Her voice immediately turned cheery and I distantly wondered if she should be tested to see if she was bipolar. Her ability to change moods was astounding. "I'm wonderful. Yourself?"

My mother eyed me in confusion from her spot at the stove when I mouthed 'Alfred's mom' at her. She nodded and went back to cooking as I smiled at nothing. "Fine. What can I help you with?"

The randomness of this call had me wondering if she needed help with picking something out for Alfred for Christmas. Although, even though we were close friends I really didn't know what he'd want. Hell, I hadn't gotten anything yet either. Still, that was the only thing I could think of that seemed plausible.

She seemed to pause for a moment, that distant, deep voice saying something in the background before Mrs. Jones's joyful voice came back to me, sounding somewhat fake. Then again, her voice always sounded a tad fake.

She laughed to herself a moment. "Well, you see, Arthur- I'm not entirely sure what he wanted me to tell you. He just shoved his phone at me before I could do anything."

My smile fell from my face. "What? Is Alfred okay?"

Mrs. Jones's paused once more and even when she spoke with a voice all airy and bubbly, I still couldn't keep my imagination at bay when the icy roads came into mind.

"We're at the hospital, sweetie. There's been a bit of a mishap."


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Notes:_

Hey, over half a year, people. Over _half_ a _YEAR_. Dang, I really am bad with this updating thing lol. Sorry it took so long but life in 2012 has been so eventful and hectic, but it's dynamite, so thank you guys for all the birthday wishes and encouragements when I last saw ya'll. I've actually been super busy this year and just this past month I went to London with a friend. Let me tell you that the real thing could not even compare to writing about a personified country. So, to England, sorry for not portraying you as amazing and beautiful as your country and customs are.

Hope you enjoy this installment 'cause I'm not sure when I'll be able to write another.

Also, I can't help but comment on this. CT, whoever you are, your comment was super adorable and was a real wonderful thing to see. : )

Enjoy.

* * *

><p><em>Time to be honest<em>

_This time I'm bleeding_

_Please don't dwell on it_

_'Cause I didn't mean it._

_Everyday I've spent away my soul's inside out_

_Gotta be some way that I could make it up to you now_

_Somehow_

- Nickelback, I'd Come For You

* * *

><p>"You're such a klutz."<p>

Alfred sat with a ridiculous and positively sheepish grin on his lips, body posture much too relaxed for the situation he was in. It must've been the loopy aftereffects of the pain medication for the lump on the back of his head when he'd slipped off his roof putting Christmas lights up.

"Who manages to fall and actually _miss_ the piles of snow on the cement?" I asked, rolling my eyes and taking a seat across from Alfred in his sitting room. He snickered and continued that obscene tap-tap-tapping of his finger on his cast.

"Daredevils," he commented, eyes drawn up in amusement. I let my vision drop to regard the hard outer shell of his new temporary support for his right wrist, the cast a strange sort of protuberance that was as unpleasing as it was fascinating.

"It isn't funny, Alfred."

"I know."

"_Do you_?" I raised an unenthused eyebrow, drawing another chuckle from my doped up friend. "You fell from your roof. I don't know about you, but I don't really see much humor in it."

"Sorry," Alfred said very insincerely. I pursed my lips and decided to drop it, knowing that by the distracted look adjourning Alfred's face that our conversation would likely meet a dead end soon anyway.

I leaned back into my chair and cautiously peered around the corner of the room, hearing clinking of dishes in the kitchen and the aroma of a cooked meal in process. After Alfred's mother had called me I had quickly made my way to the hospital where she informed me Alfred was. I didn't know exactly what to expect since she was so very vague about whatever it was that happened, but needless to say the rapid palpitations of my heart in my temples were a constant annoyance until I saw my friend.

I glanced back over at Alfred, who was now scratching at the edge of his cast where his skin met the casing and tightened my lips. He made me feel like a fool for reacting like his head was on fire, when, in fact, it was just his own idiocy that fractured his wrist. Even now my face felt sweaty and uncomfortable when I recalled the swish of panic and a presence somewhat heavy and thick deep down in my stomach. Alfred looked up at me just then and I frowned and focused my attention on my lap.

I'd rather not dwell on it, in all honesty.

"Red or black?"

It took me a moment but I finally registered that Alfred had said something, and as I looked up he was watching me as well. I blinked owlishly at him, letting the confusion seep off my tongue and copiously coat my words. "Uh, excuse me?"

"Red or black?"

I squinted slightly at him and glanced hesitantly to where the sounds of sizzling food cooking could be heard (hoping for direction from someone else when Alfred was this out of it, really) before looking back. "What do you mean? Red or black, what?"

"Just- red or black, dude?"

"Did you hit your head that hard–"

Alfred gave a loud, exasperated sigh which made me scowl at his melodrama. "You take all the fun out of it. _Red_ or _black_?"

I looked down at his open hand and opened my mouth silently in understanding. Oh. Oh, pens. His cast. Right… Right.

"Black, I suppose."

I made to get up but Alfred decided otherwise and threw it square at my forehead. I winced and rolled my eyes at him, muttering a curse before I picked up the instrument and took a seat beside him. He held out his arm as I grasped the cast gently in my hand. He yelped and I quickly let go, eyes shooting to him with another drumming of my heart. Alfred grinned at me.

"Psych. Sorry, just pullin' your leg."

With a purposely loud sigh, I grabbed his wrist once more, tenderly this time, damn the stupid pain paranoia he'd been concocting in my head, and let the pen hover over the shell, the smell of the permanent ink starting to burn at my eyes. I didn't know exactly what to write. _Get well soon_ was too generic and impersonal, whereas _Next time don't be such a moron _was too honest and wouldn't get good reviews from the wearer, I surmise.

In my thoughtful pause Alfred's eyes had been staring intently at my face, apparently watching the plethora of twitches in my muscles with each thought.

"You know," he said, lips pulling up at the corner in an amused smirk that I loved to hate, "no pressure, really, but as my best bud you're supposed to write something really comforting and encouraging. And, well, you're also the first to sign it, so everyone after you will see your message first and judge you by it. But no pressure. Just do your thing."

God, he was such an ass.

"So, writing _butthead_ would be too much? I know people aren't very fond of stating the obvious."

Alfred snorted. "Just write your novel, Arthur."

In the end I just decided to keep it simple.

Alfred pulled his arm back and stared at my writing, face unreadable the longer he watched. I occupied myself and capped the pen, standing up and placing it on the coffee table across the room. Alfred's mother could be heard putting plates on the table now so I decided it was best to get back to the activities in my own home, since Alfred's little excursion took me on a three hour detour.

"I should get going. My parents barely got any warning when your mother called me. I suppose they aren't too thrilled with the time I've wasted." I slid my coat on and turned to see Alfred still staring at his cast. I moved forward and snapped my fingers twice in front of his face before he blinked and looked up at me.

"What?"

"Goodbye?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced at his cast once more for a split second before grinning and pushing me away from him with his foot. I stumbled and glared as he ran his good hand through his hair. "Oh. Yeah, cool, cool. Don't worry about it. I'll see you later, then."

I paused and nodded, turning to leave. "Yeah. I'll text you tomorrow."

As I shut the door behind me and made for my car, I silently pondered what was so fascinating about the ink on his cast.

_Get better, Alfred. I don't like seeing you in pain._

It was true, after all. Why did he have to look as though it meant so much to hear it? Words are stronger than unvoiced realities, I guess.

* * *

><p>Christmas Eve was here in the blink of an eye, something that I never really thought about till in the deep of it. I never really was a huge fan of Christmas in general; the singing, the lights, the constant family togetherness that was just borderline <em>smothering<em>. Not exactly for me, but apparently it was right up Alfred's alley.

"_Come on, Arthur. Just do it with me._"

My throat closed down as I picked up my phone, tea sputtering out my lips when I set my cup down. Really, who the hell starts a conversation like that when dialing a number?

"Hello to you, too, Alfred," I managed to say, running a hand uncomfortably down my face. Alfred seemed undeterred.

"_Do it. You said you would if I asked you today._"

Ah, it was clear in that moment that he was talking about sledding down that monstrosity that people called a hill in this town. It was more like a mountain than a hill, almost a complete vertical drop.

"No, I said I _might_ say yes if you asked. And why do you want to go sledding down that cliff, anyway? You need another cast to match you current one?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow and running my finger along the top of my cup distractedly. I heard Alfred snort and the smile was evident in his voice. It was contagious, I couldn't help stifling a grin as well.

"_Party pooper. Where's your sense of adventure?_"

"Oh, I get that every day when I tend to the holiday masses at work." Customers were vicious.

"_Pfft. That doesn't count. You need something to get your blood rushing, your heart pounding. Something exciting-_"

"Like breaking my neck!" I quipped in false enthusiasm.

"_Shut up. You know what I mean._"

"Actually, I haven't a clue."

"_Come on, Arthur. It doesn't sound the _least_ bit exciting to you?_"

"Not the least bit."

"_Jackass._"

"Simpleton." There was a long silence on his end of the phone, only the sound of the static between the lines connecting us being heard, when I felt like perhaps I had offended Alfred. But, come now, who could blame me for wanting to, you know, live instead of become a smear on the pavement? But then the mood in the air changed and I could practically see Alfred shrug in nonchalance.

"_Okay, then. I'll just go by myself. See you, Arthur._"

I blinked in surprise at the phone as he abruptly hung up on me. I set the device down on the countertop and stared at it, furrowing my eyebrows in thought. He was going to go sliding down that hill in the dark by himself – without anyone to help him if he crashed or broke _another_ one of his bones?

My stomach coiled and I grit my teeth.

No way. He was just messing with me; trying to manipulate me into doing what he wanted. Well, I wasn't just some string he could tie into knots at a whim. He's a big boy, he could handle himself.

"Not going to happen, Alfred," I said, shaking my head slightly and smiling, walking out of the kitchen.

I wasn't going to give in.

* * *

><p>"I hate you."<p>

Alfred grinned at me, his nose and cheeks a rosy red under the harsh tyranny of the cold, even in the darkness. The streetlamps accentuated it, in actuality. But it wasn't a bad look with Alfred's tanned skin; the dimples poking in his cheeks and his eyes alight with glee didn't help either.

"I hate you, too, buddy. Now, you ready to do this or what?" he asked, patting my back hard with one of his gloved hands. I caught myself before I slipped in the snow, glaring at him with a sense of annoyance. I was bundled so tight it must've looked ridiculous. But it was the coldest it had been this winter and I still couldn't even feel my toes under all this padding.

"You mean wet myself?"

Alfred's smile awkwardly turned into a grimace. "Dude… You're not seriously going to do that, are you? The last thing I want to do is be fused to you because of your pee."

"Would you prefer that we just go home?"

Alfred's smile was back in place as he shoved past me, sled held high over his head. "Pee-pals it is, then!"

With a great deal of dread, wishing that he would've been too disgusted and gotten over it, I followed after my friend and placed a small bag next to his poorly wrapped gift in the snow under a tree. The worst part about this hill was that the end was a cul-de-sac, one that overlooked a small outing before dropping off to a steep slope, blackness like an ocean below, unobtainable to the glittering lights of the streetlamps. I gulped as I stared into that darkness, wondering just how Alfred knew where the trees were to maneuver around them. I asked him such.

"I thought we'd wing it," he shrugged. I balked outwardly at him until he chuckled, placing the red sled onto the snow. "Dude, calm down. You think I'm that stupid? Don't answer that," he muttered quickly, shushing me when I opened my mouth. "My dad got me this a couple years ago. It's awesome."

Switching a small button on the side, the curved front of the sled lit up, appearing to actually have small headlights. Alright, I had to admit, it was pretty awesome. I was so transfixed with the pseudo car-like device that it was only when Alfred tugged at my pant leg that I even noticed he had already seated himself in the front, gesturing for me to get on.

Oh, Christ. It was like the skateboard incident all over again.

"What're you waiting for, Christmas?" he asked, grinning like a fool.

I pretended to ponder that. "Well, considering that it's–"

Alfred made a good show of groaning before tugging harder. "God, I wasn't serious. Just get on." When I continued to stand over him and stare apathetically down at his cause, Alfred finally pouted and lowered his eyelids, looking away, trying to seem disinterested. "Fine, suit yourself. See you at the bottom." His boot dug into the snow as he pushed the sled forward.

I panicked, quickly reaching out for him as the red device started teetering over the edge. "Wait- Wait, I said! Alfred, stop for a second-" But that was all I managed to get out, because after latching so hard down onto his hood, I tumbled into the back, only given enough notification that we were already flying down the hill when the light was stolen from my eyes and a brutal wind burned at my face.

If this ride didn't kill him, I certainly would.

Alfred cheered and hunkered down, probably to gain more speed as he maneuvered the bullet of a sled around trees and lumps in the snow. I tried to hold onto the edges of the sled but gave that up almost instantly, choosing to forgo my pride and grasp onto Alfred like he was my only lifeline, my eyes wide and watering as ice currents bombarded my body.

"Isn't this great?" I vaguely heard Alfred yell before we shot over a lumpy mound of snow, flying in the air for two seconds and then landing with a hard thump on the ground, continuing our decent. I winced as the impact knocked the wind out of me, tucking my head against the curve of Alfred's spinal cord with a grunt. Alfred glanced briefly over his shoulder at me and laughed. I had no time to take joy in the contagious sound, because that split second overlook distracted him enough to veer into a particularly wooded area at the base of the hill.

Perhaps Alfred muttered "uh-oh" but I'll never know, considering how I was too distracted by the dozens and dozens of tightly knitted trees rapidly approaching us. Or, at least, they appeared to be the ones approaching us. I didn't get much warning when the inevitable happened: the sled made contact with bark.

Alfred tried to shield most of the impact, tilting the sled at an angle to keep me from actually hitting the tree, but it didn't help much since we were thrown from the device, a headlight shattering and allowing the obscuring darkness to gain more leverage. I landed on my shoulder, an aching pain shooting into my neck before I continued to roll, bouncing from the snow to the trees to the rocks underneath. It felt like an eternity but I presume the impact only lasted about ten seconds. By the end of it I was stopped by a particularly hard tree trunk seventy feet away from the flickering light of the remaining headlight.

I just stared at it, absentmindedly thinking it was a firefly, before it registered that, ow, my muscles hurt, and grr, I was going to kill that stupid, reckless, insensitive–

I sat up, blowing out a puff of white air as realization dawned. Where was Alfred? It was much too dark to see, but I managed to make it to my feet and try staggering back to the sled as quickly as possible, slipping three times on the steep climb. I looked around the crash site, wincing at the chipped and splintered paint of Alfred's overturned sled, biting at my lip nervously when Alfred was nowhere to be seen.

"Alfred?" I called out into the all-encompassing darkness. Nothing but the sound of my own breathing greeted me and my blood became a thunderous sound in my ears. "Alfred!" I tried a little louder, feeling the familiar touch of a cold sweat gripping my body and making it harder to breathe. I sneered and ran a hand roughly over my hair, feet stumbling over each other in no particular direction, as if they didn't have a straight order from my brain. "_Shit._"

It was only in my hastily unbalanced pacing that I heard it. It was small and muffled and seemed far away, but I heard it. I stopped and turned wild eyes out into the blackness to my left, urging for the sound to resurface. It did, and I immediately recognized it as Alfred's laughter.

Regardless of the trek down, I made my way quickly in that direction, feet stuttering over branches and my face knocking into trees every now and then.

"Alfred?"

The laughter was a little louder now, and I noticed that Alfred had been thrown almost twice as far as me.

"Alfred, where are you?" I called, still feeling unbearably anxious upon being unable to see even a foot in front of myself. I pulled out my mobile and tried to shine the light for some help.

"Let's do that again!" Alfred whooped from in front of me. I narrowed my eyes, willing them to adjust and find my friend. Ten feet down and they did, half immersed in a withered little creek bed, on his back and grinning up at me. I saw that his arm had broken through the thin layer of ice and the jacket sleeve was soaked.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt, did you break anything- Alfred?" I demanded, kneeling in front of him and patting him down. The side he had shielded me with was his bad arm, the one with the cast, and I couldn't even think about if he reopened that injury. My mind thought to swelling skin, bruise patches, protruding bones – "_Alfred?_" I ordered almost frantically, eyes seeking out my friend's in the dull light of the mobile.

"Chill, Arthur. I'm fine. A little wet, but fine. That's more than I can say about you," he reassured, glove brushing against my cheek. I flinched away almost self-consciously, my brain being unable to transfer from worrying over Alfred to being worried over. "You got a battle scar."

It was almost unrecognizable in the darkness, but that was most certainly blood on his glove.

"Jesus Christ," I breathed, flopping back and hearing the snow crunch under my ass, my trembling hands running over my face as I gained my bearings. Alfred patted my shoulder twice, feeling his presence looming over me when I remained silent, shaking off the vestiges of uncertainty and, well, and fear, I suppose. I didn't even want to think about how fast we were traveling when the tree rushed to greet us.

"It's okay, Arthur. It's not anything to worry about," Alfred awkwardly reassured. "A little blood never hurt anybody."

"It's not my lip," I protested lightly, raising my head enough to see the dim teal glow reflecting off his glasses. I couldn't quite pin his expression when it was this dark. "It was- I thought," I started but cleared my throat and glanced away, running my tongue over the metallic sting at the corner of my mouth.

Alfred was silent a moment, almost as if he was in a thoughtful daze before he spoke up, his voice sturdy but laced with uncertainty. "You thought I was hurt."

I nodded.

Alfred exhaled a small breath, and I dimly heard him swallow around another exhale. "You don't like seeing me in pain," Alfred murmured, his tone something I had never heard before, but it made me certain that I didn't want to look him straight in the eyes at this moment.

A hand lightly slapped me on the cheek and I jolted back, eyes wide and confused as Alfred randomly burst into laughter and broke the contemplative atmosphere. "Right back at you, buddy. Now let's please get up. My ass is freezing and I'm so not looking forward to that climb back up."

Alfred stood up and brushed the snow off his clothing, leaning down and offering a hand. I silently accepted it and allowed him to pull me to my feet when he patted me on the back and shoved me in the direction of the abandoned sled.

"You sure you don't want to do that again?"

I looked up towards the stars through the tree line and shook my head. "If I never do anything adventurous again it will be too soon."

It was a good fifteen minutes to drag the sled back up to the cul-de-sac and my calves burned with the yearning to sit down and never function again. We were both nearly out of breath when we took a seat on the pathway's edge, Alfred falling back so he was flat on the cement, nothing but his knees bent and feet in the gutter.

"Best Christmas ever."

"Yikes, I'd hate to have been at your worst," I muttered, rubbing at my bruised lip and wincing. Alfred paid me no attention and continued to look at the clouded night sky. I didn't know how he could lay in such freezing snow for that long, but I simply decided to use his gloveless hand with his wrist cast to determine how cold he was. His fingers poking out of the cast were dark red, on the verge of purple. It was time to wrap this night up.

"I hope that you got me something nice enough to block out another memory of you throwing me down a hill."

Alfred opened his eyes and looked up at me with a quirked eyebrow. "I didn't throw you down any hills." I made a face at him and he hid a sheepish grin. "Not technically, anyway. It's not my fault if you're easy to goad."

"Piss off and give me my present."

Alfred made another show of false annoyance and plugged his ears, getting up and retrieving my small bag and his gift, still under the tree where we left them.

"Merry Christmas, Scrooge," he said, throwing his box at me. I snorted and neatly began opening the packaging as Alfred full-out tore into the bag I got him. I opened the box and stared at a dark green sweatshirt with the big letters of BROWN on the front. I slowly pulled it out and Alfred looked up in time to smile at me.

"You know, to make my leaving not so sucky," he instructed. He didn't look so certain when I didn't manage to make any sort of expression at him. "It made sense when I bought it…" he mumbled.

The fabric was thick, even I could tell that under my gloves, and when I brought it up to touch my cheek it felt unbelievably soft. I didn't know what to say, but Alfred's almost illogical gift from his school made me feel so much better, it was almost painful.

"This sweatshirt is clearly green, I think there was a misprint," I muttered and raised my eyebrows at him, gesturing to the word. Alfred blinked at me before rolling his eyes and punching my shoulder good-naturedly. I smirked softly and kept my fingers wrapped in the warmth of the sweater and placed it in my lap, it now being my turn to see how he viewed my gift. My hands were sweaty in my gloves as I expectantly waited to see his reaction. It was a lame gift but, like Alfred said about his, it made sense when I wrapped it.

Alfred's smile dropped when he pulled out a picture frame and held it up to get a better look as I shifted awkwardly beside him.

"I bought the frame. I just thought it would look better if it wasn't just lying around in a box somewhere," I explained, eyes dancing around his face and waiting for a response. He wore the same contemplative expression he had worn a few days ago when I wrote on his cast.

It was just a simple picture of the two of us. Alfred had his arm around my shoulder and I wore a small smile, though it appeared more as a grimace to me. Alfred's face, however, had the largest smile I had ever seen he adjourn. It was from the day by his pool when he had gotten heatstroke and I found out officially about his secret. If one looked hard enough at the picture, one would be able to see the slight red tinge around Alfred's eyes from his grateful tears at my easy acceptance.

"I don't know why, but I thought you'd want it." I scratched behind my ear uncomfortably, Alfred's silence always unnerving me. Maybe he didn't like it. Maybe he didn't approve of being reminded of that part of his past. Maybe he was ashamed of that day when I had found out about his suicide attempt in such an embarrassing manner.

That thought made my heart sink a little, for I had never been ashamed of him, and had treated that day as the day we had become real friends.

"It's great." Alfred cleared his throat harshly and tried again, his voice not cracking as much as his first attempt. "It's_ great_. Thanks Arthur."

My eyebrows raised even higher when Alfred set the picture down, coughing and looking away, his face pinched in an expression I couldn't read, but his eyes getting a glassy sheen to them that made my heart stop beating for a moment. Was Alfred really getting choked up over this? Yes, it was a nice picture, but… Well, I suppose that day probably meant more to Alfred than it did to me. It just never really clicked until now.

He turned his attention back to me and laughed, pulling me in suddenly for a tight hug. I was shocked for a moment before breathing out a calming breath and returning it, albeit with not quite as much vigor. I felt like Alfred was going to break my spine in half.

It was only when I noticed the crickets chirping and that Alfred's body heat had started to seep through his jacket that it registered: this hug had been going on for nearly two minutes. When I tried to pull back I felt Alfred's fingers flex over the fabric of my jacket and I stayed put, a ringing in my ears that left me lightheaded. This- this wasn't normal; it wasn't us. We just didn't do this sort of thing, and certainly not this long.

"A-Alfred," I muttered into his ear, Alfred flinching when my breath touched him. He cleared his throat once more, sniffed, and pulled back away from me, enough to see my face as his hands still rested on my shoulders when he noticed this, too, trying to come off as casual but failing miserably. I looked at him and he looked at me and I knew we both felt the static between us.

I got a quick flash of the swing set before Alfred left for college, the same expression on his face now as it was then when our fingers nearly wove together, and I knew this just wasn't normal. This wasn't what our friendship used to feel like before college.

And what was worse, I knew Alfred knew that too when he lightly brushed a chunk of snow from my hair.

And then we were on opposite ends of the sidewalk, staring at our shoes and only managing to breathe through our nostrils.

"We should get back," I said, and Alfred nodded quickly, moving for his car.

Even the ride back was silent, but this time I welcomed it, for I knew that for once in my life words would be worse, much, much worse.

* * *

><p>I didn't see Alfred for a few days and I was completely fine with that. We hadn't talked since Christmas Eve and the silence was deafening. But I believed we were both just uncertain of how to act. I gradually chalked the hug Alfred gave me as a momentary weakness of high school coming back to him from seeing the picture. The feeling I got that made my stomach twist signaled otherwise but I just told it to shut the fuck up.<p>

It was December twenty-eighth when I finally decided to text Alfred, asking how his Christmas went. I gawked at the text I received a few minutes later.

_Great. I spent Christmas in my car :)_

I had called Alfred and he sounded like there was something on his mind that was bothering him so I asked if he wanted to go do something. Needless to say, he was in my driveway with his rumbling engine ten minutes later.

I shut the door behind me and glanced over at my friend staring at my garage door, ignoring the seat buckle in favor of the emotions swirling behind his eyes.

"Merry Christmas?" I offered, which at least got Alfred to look at me. He smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes, you know, it being his plastic smile that always got under my skin.

"Merry Christmas."

I sighed and pulled at a loose string on his seat to do something to occupy my hands with. "What happened this time?"

Alfred grinned a bitter looking grin at me. "Oh, you know, Ma and Pa had another little tiff."

I frowned distastefully at him. "You got into another fight with your parents?"

Alfred shook his head, his smile falling as he tapped at his steering wheel. "No, not my parents. I actually haven't fought with them in a long time."

"Matthew, then?"

He shook his head.

I furrowed my brows at his vagueness. "Then I am completely lost. If you didn't fight with anyone, then what was the problem?"

Alfred was silent for a minute, twirling a finger around his key ring and glancing at me from the corner of his eyes. "I heard my parents going at it," he said after a long while.

Oh. Oh, I knew how that went. Nothing like a holiday to bring out arguments amongst the family. I understood why it bothered Alfred so much; no child liked hearing their parents fight about personal things that were supposed to remain away from their reality. I could only imagine what Alfred's parents would fight about.

"School," he spoke, watching me with a distant sense of amusement. I briefly wondered when he began reading my mind. "They were arguing about school. And what's funnier is that my dad brought it up."

"They don't want to pay for your schooling anymore?" I asked, my hackles raised. After only a semester and they were pulling out? What kind of parents would give up on their child after reassuring them that they could be–

"Woah, calm down, Arthur," Alfred said, raising his hands at my apparent abhorrence to the idea. It must've showed on my face because he smiled a small smile this time. "That's not what I heard. At least I don't think that's what I heard. My dad actually was trying to give Matt some money."

Well. That certainly didn't compute. "I thought your father was against that?" I asked, raising an uncertain eyebrow. Alfred ran a hand through his hair and looked back at the garage.

"Yeah, I thought so, too. But I guess he changed his mind or something. Holiday spirit or crap like that, I guess."

My hands had nothing else to do when the string snapped and I chewed at my lip, the side that wasn't still bruised. "Do you want him to go?"

"Yeah," Alfred said too quickly. "Yeah, I do. It's not fair if it's just me, and God knows he can't stay here anymore 'cause of- Well, he can't stay here, that's for sure." Alfred paused, slowly turning to look at me and I could clearly see residual hurt that had never been healed with his family in his face. "My mom doesn't think Mattie's okay to go out on his own right now after his teacher… after his- his _teacher_–"

"Alfred, you don't have to say–"

"_Killed_ himself," Alfred said, almost gagging on the word. He winced. "And what I did. She's scared to leave him out of her sight. And I thought she was bad with just me, but she's blaming the whole thing on him, like he's crazy, too, and he might go off and jump in front of a car or something. My dad disagrees, but then I heard her say…" He stopped, taking a breath and glaring at his steering wheel like it committed a great betrayal to him. "She said that she doesn't want Matt ending up screwed up. She doesn't want him ending up like me, and that got my dad to back off."

I didn't quite know what to say to Alfred when he was looking so dejected. I think he knew his mother was ruined because of his incident in high school, but it was an entirely different thing to hear it aloud. And worst of all she hadn't a clue that Alfred had overheard her hidden feelings of unease and distress.

How was someone supposed to comfort a person like this?

I reached out awkwardly to pat his shoulder reassuringly but stopped and pulled it back at the memory of the sledding trip. Something akin to fright dwelled deep inside and I figured it was best not to engage it if at all possible.

"I'm sure she was just caught up in the moment–" Alfred shook his head vigorously, refusing to acknowledge me. I inhaled and cocked my head to the side. "You're not someone a person wouldn't want to aspire to be, Alfred." Alfred seemed to hesitate a moment, eyes darting in small patterns against the steering wheel. I leaned in a bit closer and craned my neck to get a look at his hunkered over face. "I for one would be proud to call you my friend."

At that Alfred finally looked at me, eyes so big and expecting that I had no choice but to do whatever would heal the scars deep inside him, not just the ones on his arms.

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?" he asked cautiously.

I snorted and sat back up. "As if I need to, crybaby."

Alfred made a garbled sound in the back of his throat that sounded like a sad excuse for laughter before he shook his head and put the car into reverse. "You're such a prick."

"And you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Alfred barked out a laugh, pulling out of my driveway and going down the street. For a moment everything seemed to settle back to familiar patterns; we didn't feel any residual strangeness or that awkward thrill that consumed the moment since he had left for Brown. For that second we were just Arthur and Alfred, Alfred and Arthur.

Best chums until proven otherwise.

"I don't know about you, but I could use a pick-me-up," Alfred announced the further we got to the edge of town. I peered uncomfortably out the window when we drifted into the more shoddy business areas, the paint chipping slightly on the buildings, hardly any sensible person about.

"Define pick-me-up."

The grin Alfred threw at me gave me the shivers, and as the car lurched to a halt in front of the most outrageous looking liquor store I'd ever seen, I suddenly knew what he meant.

Ah, getting smashed it was, then.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Notes:_

My friend actually has the shot glass I wrote about in here. Ah, memories. Lol Anyway, this chapter isn't as long as the others, and it doesn't have as much going on in it, but I'd like to think of this baby as the important turning point chapter, if ya know what I'm sayin'? Got a couple _Static_ pics on my tumblr, too, if you guys wanna take a peek. It's on my profile.

Enjoy.

* * *

><p><em>I tried to be perfect, it just wasn't worth it<em>

_I don't believe it makes me real_

_I thought it'd be easy but no one believes me_

_I meant all the things I said_

– Pieces, Sum 41

* * *

><p>"How do you propose we do this?"<p>

Alfred smirked an off-putting little smile, the action looking completely fake just as much as delighted. I paused, always feeling a sense of thrill whenever he regarded me with that hopelessly mischievous expression, knowing the outcomes from said smile always opened new, audacious doors for me.

"Please tell me you aren't going to bribe some wino outside to buy us some liquor in return for a six pack," I pleaded with a frown. Alfred simply shook his head, laughter on his lips.

"Hell no. What do you take me for, Arthur? I wouldn't do something that dangerous."

I felt the pressure in my chest release a bit with that information, sighing and mentally congratulating Alfred for his maturity, in no way wanting to risk something for a fleeting night of booze and angst. Alfred shuffled around in his seat and rummaged through his wallet, pulling a card from it and practically beaming at me.

I stared.

"Who is Everett Fischer?" I asked.

"Me."

I opened my mouth and closed it. Another pause. "You're Everett Fischer?"

"That's what is says on my license."

Oh.

A fake ID.

Why hadn't I thought of that?

Why, that was just the most brilliantly –

"Are you mentally retarded?" I berated, shoving the license into my friend's face with enough force to make him squeal – really, Alfred, _squealing_? – and swat my hand away unappreciatively. "You do realize what the consequences are if you're caught with that. Besides – he looks nothing like you," I said, narrowing my eyes at the similar, yet honestly nothing alike face on Alfred's ID. Yes, there were some resemblances, but overall I could easily differentiate Everett Fischer and Alfred Jones. I distantly pondered if that was only because I'd been with Alfred for so long that I could point out any falsifications if presented with them.

"Well, I don't have to look _identical _to him. They aren't going to fingerprint me or anything," Alfred reassured, mouth twisting in a strange expression as he safely tucked the license back into his wallet in his jeans.

"I think you'd be better off with the wino."

"Agree to disagree, my friend," Alfred announced, jolting up from his seat and abruptly opening his door and vacating the vehicle without so much as a warning. I grumbled, following after him into the store, feeling suddenly self-conscious when the automatic doors opened for us. I glanced at the clerk awkwardly, smiling when the grungy looking man nodded towards us. His eyes tracked us as Alfred disappeared momentarily behind a shelf full of expensive wines, giving me a brief sense that this wasn't Alfred's first time in this store.

"Lighten up," Alfred said close to my ear, a calming hand squeezing the back of my neck when I caught up to him. "Just relax, Art."

I frowned at his snicker. "Pardon me for stealing liquor from my parents like a normal individual."

"Know how to play the game," Alfred smiled, and when his eyes crinkled around the corners like that I had no choice but to roll over like some dog. My shoulders slumped and he removed his hand, feet guiding him out of the aisle and into the stronger substances. "What are you in the mood for? Morgan? Jack?" His eyes brightened as he turned to me, lips pulled up in that addicting grin once more. "Ohh, Cuervo."

My eyes danced across the many drinks aligning the aisle, body buzzing with subdued excitement. I could deny it till I was blue in the face, but when it really came down to it I fancied myself somewhat of an alcoholic in the making, if I was completely honest with myself. It wasn't something I was proud of, but the promise of being inebriated without a worry in the world was a delightful thought.

I just managed to nod when Alfred grabbed the golden bottle and separated it from its brethren. He raised his eyebrows at me and dangled it between his fingers, pivoting down the aisle. "Good choice." He paused at the end, seeming to contemplate something before reaching out and grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniels as well.

Well, shit. Getting _outrageously _smashed it was. Perhaps Alfred was downplaying how much his mother's words barbed at him.

I waited out by his truck while Alfred paid up at the register, shifting my feet against the gravel and glancing back over my shoulder as casually as possible. Flinching, I stared back down at my shoes when the crusty looking cashier met my eyes, his own narrowing perceptively in my direction. Or perhaps I imagined it. Lord, I didn't know how Alfred did this so often.

I paused. Did he do this often?

It poked at me in the back of my mind that maybe I still didn't know Alfred as well as I previously thought. Sure, we were best friends, but everybody had skeletons in their closets.

"You look cheerful," Alfred said as he came up behind me, bottles clanking in the bags when he hopped off the curb and regarded me with an odd glimmer in his eyes.

"Speak for yourself," I rebutted, mouth twisted into some sort of grimace. "It's like we were separated at birth. You ready to leave now?"

Alfred laughed deep down in his throat and shook his head, gesturing to my side of the car as he hauled himself back in, abandoning the bottles temporarily to let me inside. The heater kicked on almost immediately when he started the vehicle, already intent on heading back to- er, to…

After a moment of silence, nothing but the low hum from Alfred's lips to a song on the radio, I turned in my seat and eyed him curiously. "Where are we going exactly?"

"Wherever the night takes us, my pet."

"It's 6:00pm."

Alfred shrugged with one shoulder, looking unfazed. "Evening, whatever."

I waited for a beat before sighing, pushing my fingers through my hair in a harsh manner. "Well?"

"A park."

I snorted in disbelief. "I don't know if you've been watching the weather channel, Alfred, but it's kind of cold outside," I said, motioning towards the piles and piles of snow on either side of the road. "Cops also very much favor those areas." Not that I would know…

"Fine. Your house," he offered.

I shook my head. "My parents would destroy me if they caught me drinking again." At this, Alfred did manage to look at me with unabashed curiosity displayed on his face. It was my turn to shrug at him. See: '_fancied myself somewhat of an alcoholic in the making_' for details. "What about your house?"

Alfred's eyes bugged comically at the road as he shook his head, deep, drawn out laughter streaming from his mouth in amusement. "_Oooh ho hooh_ no. That is a bad idea if I ever heard one, dude. I thought you were supposed to be super smart or something. Pfft. False advertising. I don't know if _you've_ noticed, but I kinda wanted to get away from there, or have you forgotten?"

"What did you want us to do, then? Sit in your car?" I responded, feeling the hot tendrils of irritation burning beneath my skin despite my insistence for control over the urge. Obviously we had no game plan, Alfred going in on this idea half-cocked with no step two. I should've seen that coming, but surprisingly I was still surprised. Huh.

"I didn't think that far," he lamely admitted after a self-deprecating stream of silence.

Figured.

We idled at a stoplight up ahead, staring down the red orb like it would offer up its own idea for our predicament. Two friends ready to share a bonding moment of some sort and copious amounts of alcohol could not be wasted. That was like a crime against nature in my book. I felt antsy, withholding the urge to glance back into those bags where the beverages were, a small jiggle forming in my right leg. Damn my Achilles heel. Where were all those teachers and videos back in primary school and high school informing students how easy it was to get under the seductive lure of alcoholism when I was growing up?

Oh, right. I had skipped out on those classes in favor of getting drunk in the boy's restroom with those goth blokes. Rebellious years were annoying at best, regretful at worst, and hard to shake off in general.

I was so close to opening my mouth and reluctantly letting us go back towards my house in favor of sitting in the snow somewhere when Alfred beat me to it.

"We'll go to my house."

I casually glanced at him when the light turned green and we started moving once more. "You sure? I don't want to pressure you into doing something that bothers you."

"You're not pressuring me. Get over yourself, Arthur," Alfred snorted with a frown on his lips. "Like you said, it's freezing outside and we have nowhere else to go. We can just hide it in my room."

"Are you sure?" I just wanted to make sure Alfred wouldn't get in trouble with his parents either for doing this. Underage drinking was technically illegal but it was so common that most people tended to turn the other cheek. I, however, didn't know if Alfred's parents were the 'cheek-turning' sort.

"Yeah. I just want to have a good time, okay? My folks are out tonight until later anyway, so I don't think we'll get in that much trouble."

I remained quiet the rest of the way until his house, knowing silently to myself how to read between the lines of Alfred's words; _Yeah. I just want to forget about all the shit I've been dealing with. My parents most likely won't make a large issue out of something small like this, but I still prefer to stay as far away from them as I can when trying to relax. My house is far from relaxing, dude._

* * *

><p>It was around 9:45 when I felt like my soul was sitting on Alfred's bed with him, watching my body sway back and forth like a moron on the carpet.<p>

Alfred left no time once we'd arrived at his house, shooing me into his bedroom and immediately clicking the lock shut after that. The seals were cracked instantly, a shot glass placed into my hand before I could even react to the tantalizing scent of the whiskey. Alfred had filled his own, a neon pink glass with the words _Girl's Night Out_ scrawled boldly in cursive along the edge, and raised it in a salute with a smirk.

I silently wondered where he procured a shot glass like that, but my interest faded as my throat caught fire, a pool like lava plunging down my esophagus and leaving a delightfully burnt trail in its wake.

The next few hours were essentially going through the same motions, albeit in a slightly louder fashion each time. By the time the whiskey had been drained to nearly the bottom, Alfred opening the Jose and trying to make his own dent in it, I was certain he was shitfaced.

I hiccupped and covered my mouth, swaying forward and narrowing my eyes at the carpet in an attempt to keep anything from making a journey back up. Perhaps it was I who was drunk off my arse, not Alfred.

"Look as your- look- _look_ at your face!" Alfred squawked, falling into a fit of laughter as he pointed at me with a cheek-splitting grin. Despite the taste of bile feeling like it was rotting in my mouth, I couldn't help but smile awkwardly back up at his joviality myself. If I thought Alfred's smiles were eye-catching before, it was nothing compared to an intoxicated Alfred.

"Excuse me," I muttered, shifting back against his bookshelf and stretching my legs out in front of me, mesmerized with the way my toes danced beneath my socks. God, it was like they were belly dancing. I bit my lip and grinned at the idea, lilting to the side as my temple made contact with the mirror on Alfred's closet door.

"Dude, don't break that. Seven years," Alfred announced, sounding completely sober and rational to me.

"Seven years what? In prison?" I asked, blinking slowly at my friend who was starting to go fuzzy around the edges.

Alfred paused when he started to pour himself another shot, missing a great deal and drenching his mattress. He furrowed his brows in thought as he looked back at me. "Uh, I think so."

"I don't want to," I stopped to hiccup again, "go to prison."

"Then don't break my mirror."

I nodded, shutting my eyes and focusing on my breathing since it was so loud in my head with every breath I took. It was the one thing that I really enjoyed about drinking; every sense felt heightened, aside from feeling pain. I knew that when a person felt pain when drunk that they were in serious trouble in the morning. I recalled one time when I stumbled into the garage and popped my knee out of place. Needless to say, my parents found me passed out on the cold granite the next morning.

"Yo, are you lista-listening?" Alfred asked after… er, after however long I had been zoning out. I followed his mouth intently when he talked again, feeling as though I must've been listening now. When his mouth stopped moving, I glanced up at his eyes. Bollocks, they were staring expectantly like I was supposed to say something.

"Ah… Uh, y-yes. Yeah, me, too," I managed, tongue seeming heavy and not very compliant in my mouth.

"_You peed in my bed_?" Alfred shrieked, looking horrified as he sprung (fell ungracefully) off the mattress.

"_What_? No! I- I didn't wet the –"

"You just said that you did!"

"I didn't hear you," I explained, hoping I looked indignant or something as I crawled over toward my spooked friend. He flinched away from me for a moment, eyes examining my face for my intentions skeptically before he relaxed somewhat, seeming okay with whatever it was that he found.

"I said it looks like someone peed the bed and you said, 'me, too.' A'course I'm grossed, dude. What the heck were you doing in my bed?" Alfred said, his words clumping together like a run-on sentence, what with his heavy slurring and strange inflections. He settled back on his arm, the appendage placed behind him like a support beam as he eyed me uncomfortably.

I bit the inside of my cheek, gazing awkwardly at the carpeting when Alfred looked at me like that. It was downright gauche and I hated it for reasons that were piling higher and higher as the days did, unsure if Alfred was even aware how much he cast that look towards me. I had only recently started noticing how Alfred's glances lingered, something pooling hesitantly, unsurely beneath the surface, and it was itching at me like ants inside my skin because I knew that I did it as well.

"You always take my words out of context," I settled on finally, sighing loudly and scratching behind my ear in distraction.

"I do not," he denied, rocking forward ever so slightly to get a better look, almost as if to gauge what I was thinking by mere expression alone.

"Oh, please. You do all the time."

Alfred did that thing with his nose crinkling, an action that arose every time someone said something that didn't sit right with him. It looked like the mere bullshit from the statement had a strong enough smell that made him physically react.

"It's not my faults… _fault_. Yeah, it's not my fault. Half the stuff you say needs to be trimmed down anyway. With hedge clippers. And a weed eater. And maybe a personal gardener." Alfred actually looked like he believed what he said made sense as I gawked at him, trying to comprehend the meaning behind my friend's verbal expressions. I leaned forward myself, squinting at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you saying I talk too much? Because if you are, I'm going to have to pull the hypocrite card."

"No, I'm saying you use too many words to say something simple," he corrected, meeting my gaze head-on to keep his point strong and valid. Even this close, even when inebriated to the point that I was, I still had to focus rather hard to see Alfred's face properly. He still blurred around his face but I did manage to see small things that I had never noticed before, like the way his eyebrows were slightly darker than his hair; and the flecks of green sprinkled around the pupil of his blue eyes, much like an aquamarine themed exhibit about mermaids at the aquarium.

I paused at the word garbage in my head, the filter in there apparently eroded by the alcohol, and couldn't help the slight twitch in my lips at the idea of Alfred and mermaids. The silence must've dragged on too long, for Alfred's eyebrows dipped down a minute amount in concern at how attentive I was on his face. I quickly tried to redeem myself.

"Like what?"

Alfred hesitated, eyes drifting up to the ceiling in an attempt to recall something specific in his alcohol induced stupor. "Like lots of stuff. I dunno," he said _eloquently_ and shrugged, gnawing at his lip in that nervous habit he displayed so often. "Like what you want to do when you grow up, what you think about college and stuff, what you're thinking in general," Alfred blathered, refusing to meet my eyes when we were this close, and rocking like a sailboat on a turbulent ocean. I was about to start in on the list of things he was apparently confused about my opinions on when he threw a rather quick pop fly into left field, "girls–"

"What about girls?" I demanded, voice coming out like thick pudding. It was so hard to talk when intoxicated, I had almost forgotten about that.

Alfred twitched briefly and finally looked at me, eyes scanning over my face hesitantly at the bewildered expression I must've been casting him. "Nothing. Nothing, I just…"

"You just what?" My palms began to sweat and I rubbed them against my pants self-consciously.

"I dunno, Arthur. I was just curious," Alfred muttered, sounding unconfident now, wishing he hadn't let it slip in the first place.

"About what? I thought you were more concerned with things like your family and going back to school next semester. Maybe concerned with how I was taking it –"

"_You're taking it bad_?" Alfred blurted, looking surprised. I frowned and shied away when his breath bombarded my personal space. He actually looked… _flattered_ at the prospect of me missing him enormously when he left. I didn't feel comfortable with that idea, and it made my face burn.

"I didn't say that. But girls?" It took a lot not to laugh, but I ended up doing it anyway. You know, the whole drunk thing. "You're having girl trouble? Alert the media," I grinned and shook my head, a little alarmed myself that this was Alfred trying to segue his dating issues into a conversation by scrutinizing me. Regardless, this was never a conversation I liked having with Alfred for reasons never going to be spoken because I didn't want to, that's why, so I immediately stumbled up and began to pour myself another shot.

"Hey, that's not what I meant, dude. I can get girls fine," Alfred said thickly, eyes following my every movement with a low shift in his tone. Hm, perhaps I had offended his manhood.

"I'm sure you can," I said, humoring him with a smile. I tossed back my shot and completely missed the sparks forming in his eyes, a deadly threat like a forest fire before it went ablaze.

"It's more than you can say."

The recovery time for the shot was minimal now that I was well beyond intoxicated, so it took me no time at all to shoot my friend a scrutinous look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Alfred bent back so both his hands were behind him, supporting his weight as he sat on his carpet. I could see in the mirror behind him how his shoulder blades protruded, much like wings on a bird or an angel. I mentally scoffed when comparing my loud, sometimes inadvertently insensitive friend to a being of holy light and goodness.

"It's whatever you want it to mean, Arthur," Alfred said with an odd lilt to his voice, something I couldn't place an emotion to or recognize. It made the hairs on the back of my neck and down my arms stand up, though. The only thing I tried to focus on was the slurs coming from his mouth, not the serious look in his eyes or the real implication behind those words.

"No, no, Alfred. I think you're trying to tell me something. Go on. Tell," I insisted, sinking into his computer chair and taking a long breath, expelling an invisible cloud of the bitter taste that tequila always had after drinking it. I imagined it to resemble burning ash from a dragon's mouth, since that was what it felt like, anyway.

"I've just- I haven't really seen you with a girl, Arthur. I mean, c'mon, don't you like anyone?" he asked, his eyes flickering away for a moment before he forced them back.

For an irrational second I felt my pulse jolt to life, heartbeat like vigorous drums in my ears as it sent the blood rushing through me like white water rapids. It was just a moment, but the panic was palpable even when it passed. I paused, eyebrows slowly lowering as I watched my friend, waiting for my answer.

"Don't you?" I shot back, hesitantly. Alfred's reaction was to brutally start pulling tightly woven threads from his carpet when he started to frown.

I think I might've asked the wrong question.

I took the pressure off him when I ran my hands down my face with a huff, blaming any quivers on the alcohol shakes. "Just because I don't ask dating advice doesn't mean…" I didn't know how to finish that sentence, my mind drawing a blank, which seemed to be more frequent now that I thought about it.

Alfred awkwardly shuffled, fingers still destroying a clump of carpet as he continued to frown intently at the tan fibers. "So, you do like someone."

"I didn't say that."

"Wow, Arthur. You sure talk in circles," Alfred muttered, rolling his eyes sarcastically at me. I stared at my friend who fumbled to pour himself another drink, baffled, wondering why his mood was starting to deteriorate. So what? He thought I didn't confide in him? That I wasn't open to sharing secrets with him? It struck me that he shared more than I ever could share with a person in this lifetime, opening himself up to scrutiny and ridicule when he disclosed his bitter soul back in high school. I pursed my lips, feeling guilty abruptly.

It wasn't like I wanted to keep secrets from Alfred, but how could you confess to something when you didn't even know what it was?

Wetting my lips anxiously, I decided to be as vague as possible, unsure if what I was saying even was the truth. "I like someone."

Alfred halted, watching the bronze liquid in his shot glass with a strange expression on his face. He slowly peered up at me, confusion in his eyes. "Huh?"

I tried to seem as nonchalant as I could manage, but really, how well could a person do that when they were drunk senseless? "Yes, alright? I- I like someone."

I preoccupied myself with anything in the room; bookshelves, the bedspread, the curtains; anything but to look at Alfred. After a long silence that seemed to drag on for days, I finally allowed my skittish eyes to drift back towards the blonde by the bed. To my surprise, Alfred wasn't even looking at me, apparently thinking about something and watching a bead of leftover whiskey drip down the side of his glass.

"Oh."

I waited for a follow-up, but that was it. Oh. All I got was an _oh_ before he downed his shot and poured another just as fast.

Well, what the hell. I give up.

"Let's just forget you ever said anything," I said, defeated, rubbing my fingers over tired eyes.

Alfred snorted humorlessly. "You started it."

"Well, then I'm ending it."

"Suit yourself," he muttered, taking another shot. This one seemed to go straight to his knees because his ass hit the carpet and he put his hands out to gain his bearings. Maybe we were done for the night. Alfred had his eyes squeezed shut, the room most likely swimming, when I attempted to get to my feet and collect the liquor. It was difficult and I was starting to see black blotches of darkness springing across my eyelids, but I managed to peel the shot glass from Alfred's fingers. He seemed to go rigid before letting out a wilting breath.

I shook my head and gathered the bottles, glass clinking in my arms when I screwed the caps on and set them under the bed. With a quick spray of Alfred's cologne in the air in a lame gesture to hide the stench of alcohol, my legs gave out and I stumbled into a heap at the end of Alfred's bed.

"God, I'm gonna be sick," I slurred, clenching my eyes shut as I gripped my head.

"Don't puke."

I opened an eye to see Alfred watching me with weary look in his own, a little green in the face.

"Speak for yourself."

I didn't know if I imagined that grin or if Alfred really pulled that off himself. Either way, I knew I didn't have time to psychoanalyze the action when blackness came for me.

Blackouts, my old friend.

* * *

><p>Waking up in an agonizing process of realizing what you'd done the night before was never something I enjoyed, especially when I was sleeping with my nose crushed in a face-plant on the carpet, a bitter taste in my mouth from long ago spoils. I distantly heard birds outside of the window, though I was too lazy and too hungover to actually crane my neck in their direction.<p>

Not everything of the previous day was recalled, but enough to make me humiliated. That, added with a colossal headache, was the cherry on top of my beautiful morning.

"Never again," I grumbled bitterly, rolling onto my side with a groan. Oh, I knew that was a lie, but everybody who has ever had a hangover knows that the day of the hangover you wholeheartedly believe you won't put yourself through this again. Tomorrow I'd be back to my old self; I never was a quitter.

When I finally coped enough to open my eyes, the first thing I noticed was that the curtains were shut. I thanked the Lord for small mercies. The second thing I noticed was that it was warm in here. Either the heater had kicked on at some point, or Alfred had the comfiest carpet known to man.

But the third thing that I noticed had me caught in a trance, blinking slowly at the face right next to mine, eyes shut and taking even breaths, indicating slumber.

It wasn't like those flares of panic that I had been experiencing since Alfred came back until the next semester. It was just a calm numbness that consumed me when it kicked in and I realized that Alfred was sleeping right next to me, arm slung around my shoulders and putrid morning breath hitting my face.

I was surprised that he wasn't awake, but I was silently grateful that he wasn't. I knew if his eyes opened at this very moment that he would spring up and probably punch me in the gut or something. Alfred tended to react first, think second.

Something was breaching through the numbness, though, way down in my ribcage, tickling every nerve and telling my throat to close in on itself.

It must've been the hangover.

It must've been the sleep deprivation.

Hell, it must've been a disease that I never knew about rearing its ugly head with these symptoms out of the blue.

But no matter how many excuses I continued to make, in the back of my mind I never believed them. And that thought alone made me sick to my stomach, this fear and nausea beating out even the harsh effects of my hangover. It made me feel like I was dying, or, at the very least, losing control.

Lost in my own thoughts, blood rushing in my ears, blocking and out any noises around me, I failed to notice the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. It wasn't until Alfred's door opened that I realized where I was and who I was with when I looked up at the face of Mr. Jones.

It was certainly one of those deer caught in the headlights moments.

My blood ran cold when our eyes met, the stony blue of his eyes freezing me like a block of ice. Something shifted on his face as his eyes followed the arm slung around me to his son, in blissful slumber with all the ignorance of a baby with his face next to mine.

Shit.

I immediately broke free of Alfred's hold, hands shaking as I felt Alfred's father's eyes on me. I shook my friend, trying to wake him.

"Alfred. Alfred, get up, your father wants you," I ordered, urging him into consciousness. He made a strange animalistic sound when he inhaled, eyes squinting at me in annoyance. "Alfred, your dad."

It took him only a few seconds of looking at me before his eyes went wide and he rolled onto his back, looking up at his dad with a pinched smile. "Hey, pops."

Mr. Jones blankly looked down at his son before letting go of the doorknob. "You need to shovel the walk, Alfred. Your mother needs to go to the store and she can't until you clean the pathway."

"Okay. Yeah, no problem. I'll be out in a minute," Alfred said rather quickly, voice tight with the apprehension he usually had when talking with his father.

Mr. Jones nodded once, a brief gesture of understanding before shifting to move back into the kitchen, where the smell of coffee was already wafting into the far corners of Alfred's room. Alfred started to sit up, feeling around for his coat when I looked up and caught the eyes of Calvin Jones yet again.

The stare he gave me took my breath away, sending needles down my appendages and holding me frozen to the floor. It was only a moment, but it had all the impact it needed to before he shut the door, his footsteps fading as he left us alone.

Even when Alfred apologized for making me leave so early, still refusing to really meet my gaze because of, well, because of whatever shit happened last night, possibly the abrupt encounter with his father this morning, too, I wasn't really listening. I was too distracted by a person no longer in the room with us, who gave life to the rambling boy in front of me, yet was completely the opposite of anything Alfred could and would ever be.

The car ride back to my house was borderline painful, Alfred choosing to play some random alternative crap so we wouldn't have to talk.

I was too busy staring at my lap with a frown, knowing somehow that whatever that look was was going to bite me in the ass someday.


	5. Chapter 5

_Should auld acquaintance be forgot,_  
><em>And never brought to mind?<em>  
><em>Should auld acquaintance be forgot,<em>  
><em>And auld lang syne!<em>

_- _Auld Lang Syne, Robert Burns

* * *

><p>It had been a few days since the little drinking fiasco at Alfred's home, and I couldn't find it in me to look him dead in the eye anymore. Granted, Alfred felt completely in agreement and he made it blatantly obvious that eye contact was now a practice he could forgo for the foreseeable future. I couldn't blame him. I was starting to feel nervous, for it seemed that every time we were in each other's presence, something fell out of place between us; like our friendship wasn't as solid as it used to be.<p>

It was an amorphous blob, and with each passing encounter it seemed to be taking a shape still too fuzzy to clearly see.

It was a frightening thought, but I reminded myself that analyzing it would be even more terrifying, if that were even possible.

Regardless, I found it completely in our best interest not to see each other for a short while. Someone must've answered my prayers up above because my body was soon hijacked with the worst flu I had ever experienced. I didn't know whether being bedridden was a blessing in disguise or otherwise.

Either way, the bile on the back of my tongue and the mucus I constantly had to blow into an army of tissues was bittersweet in my book.

By the time I made it past the _Never-ending Botulism _stage of my illness, it was New Year's Eve, and Alfred decided to come out of his hiding hole and do the unthinkable: Invite me to a party.

"Excuse me?" I said, wincing at how congested I still sounded. I wiped my nose with my handkerchief and readjusted the phone on my ear. Alfred sounded halfheartedly hopeful at best.

"_A party. You know, for New Years. It'll be fun, Arthur._"

I rolled my eyes, highly doubting it. "Whose party is it?" I asked hesitantly, not really wanting to know the answer.

"_Gilbert Beilschmidt._ _His folks are gone for the weekend and he even got his tight-ass brother to keep it under wraps._"

Oh, bollocks. A lump started to form in my throat as I ran my tongue carefully over my teeth, marinating on these details. I hadn't been aware that Alfred still kept in touch with some people from high school. Then again, it would've been unrealistic to assume he dropped his old life into a dumpster and never looked back. Surely he, too, wouldn't be able to sever _all_ ties. That thought alone had me worrying for his newfound security in himself.

Worse, too, was that the name Gilbert Beilschmidt did ring a bell, but it wasn't a pleasant one. It was more like the hollow echoes of a funeral bell. I knew of him from chatter back in school as an upperclassman who graduated two years prior to Alfred and I, and that he had some exceptionally popular get-togethers, most of which involved the local authorities.

The fact that Alfred was friends with someone who left the school before his suicide attempt came to light wasn't strange; however, it was concerning that Alfred wanted to go. Gilbert and Alfred surely knew some of the same people…

"I don't think that to be wise, Alfred," I murmured, sniffing and coughing into my arm. I could practically see the confusion on his face when he spoke.

"_Why not? It's New Years, dude. You can't stay home; that's totally lame._"

"Can't you hear that I'm sick?" I frowned at his lackluster ability of observation. Alfred paused briefly on the other line.

"_You're sick?_"

"Of course I'm sick. Why did you think I didn't want to go out these past few days?"

Alfred paused for a much longer timeframe and I mentally slapped myself, fidgeting under my quilt when the hairs on my arms stood on end. Right, right. Not going down that uncomfortable road. I cleared my throat rather loudly and hoped to change the topic. "I've just been sick, alright? I don't feel up for going to a gathering."

Alfred bounced back rather quickly, a quality I envied. "_Dude, stop calling it a 'gathering.' It's a party. And you could use a little fresh air if you really are sick –_"

"I am!" I snapped defensively.

"_Besides, you are the most anti-social person I know. I can't remember a time in high school where you talked to someone_," Alfred laughed, but I could hear genuine curiosity in his tone. I sighed and ran my hand over my face, wishing this conversation would just end.

"I occasionally discussed assignments with Gilbert's brother and his loud friend who stuck to him like glue, as well as that frog, Francis," I explained, hoping that would suffice. If anything it just made Alfred snicker more.

"_Well, there you go. You'll have someone to talk to. Now come on. I'm picking you up at nine regardless._"

"Alfred, I don't want to drink."

Alfred grew silent a moment before some shuffling in the background reached my attention. His voice contained a smile as he said, "_Yeah, me either. I think I'm done with booze for a while_."

Well, it was nice to know we were in agreement about something for once.

* * *

><p>I wasn't exaggerating when I said I wasn't fond of parties. The incessant use of alcohol and other drug related activities, raucous laughter, and a plethora of individuals shoved into a house with provocative dancing wasn't exactly my idea of a fun night. Feeling like a sardine in a can was a very claustrophobic sensation I didn't like experiencing.<p>

For Alfred, on the other hand, he didn't have a problem with it at all. This was his previous life, after all. I probably couldn't count how many times Alfred mentioned a party or eight in high school. And as I leaned against a wall watching Alfred bounce around from person to person, red solo cup of lemonade that only burned my sore throat in hand, it was blatantly obvious that he was in his element.

I was sure that a part of Alfred missed his booming social life. Yes, we enjoyed each other's presence, but something nipped at me that made my stomach roll uneasily. I didn't want to monopolize his time to the point where even doing a small favor like attending one of these things made me fill with guilt, nor did I want Alfred to feel like he had to badger me to be included in this part of his life.

I just kept these thoughts to myself when he looked up and smiled at me from between the dozens of bodies among us, eyes holding something that was more captivating when in this environment. I sniffed my stuffed nose and nodded, holding up my cup to him. He grinned that contagious grin of his before his attention was brought to another individual. Alfred was led out of my eyesight and I sighed, rubbing at my building headache.

Hopefully no one would ruin Alfred's mood tonight. The last thing he needed to start the New Year was his suicidal past brought up, increasing his already overflowing anxiety.

I stared down at the murky liquid inside my cup, feeling nauseated at the idea of finishing it. Just managing to stand up was a feat in its own right, let alone gulping down citrus against a raw throat. I just wanted to seem included without including myself with these people, most of which I hadn't a clue who they were. There were a lot of older women and men here tonight, as to be expected from upperclassmen; however, I did manage to spot some familiar faces from my own class.

It wasn't a great realization, but at least there wasn't anyone from Alfred's old group that I recognized.

Most of the party was tedious at best. I wandered around for a while, and even ran into Gilbert's brother, Ludwig, for a bit and discussed how he was faring at Stanford University. The night was slow and the longer I was ensconced in the loud music and intoxicated peers, the harder it was to ignore my pounding headache and aching limbs.

There was still twenty minutes to midnight when I decided to sit down on the bench in the alcove. I rubbed my temple, wincing as the throbbing would not surrender and leave. I really just wished Alfred would show up as he had periodically throughout the night and say he wanted to go. He was my ride and I had no way of departing this place without him.

"Rough night?"

Upon hearing a soft, curious voice, I released my face and peered up to see the largest pair of breasts I'd ever laid my eyes on. I realized after a moment that I was staring and my face became hot, my eyes zipping up to a round and warm face above the bosom. The girl smiled at me and I felt like a fool.

"You could say that," I muttered, mustering a weak smile of my own.

The girl ran her fingers through her blonde hair, laughter spilling from her lips in a melodious tune. "Is someone sitting here?" she asked, gesturing beside me. I shook my head stupidly, palms sweating when he bare calf brushed my leg. She looked at me and I craned my neck back at the close proximity. "I'm Katyusha," she greeted, offering her hand.

I blinked at it briefly before shaking it, my head buzzing. "Arthur."

"Nice to meet you, Arthur. If you don't mind me asking, what school do you go to? I don't recognize you," she explained. This close, even in the dim lighting, I could see how long her eyelashes were, and when she blinked it was distracting.

"I'm – No, I'm not attending school currently. I recently graduated," I said, wondering why someone who looked like this was talking to me; especially considering how sickly I must've appeared.

"So you're younger," she said on a breath, lips tweaking up in a chuckle. She crossed her ankles and stretched her arms in front of her, as if thinking about something. "That explains it. You just look so lonely over here."

I withheld the urge to cough into my arm, the sting of not doing so building up in my lungs. Instead I smiled, praying it didn't look forced. "I'm not much of an… adventurer."

"I'm not really into these things either. But my brother likes me to get out the house and socialize with him," Katyusha said, pointing out into the crowd at a large fellow finishing what I'm positive was his second bottle of Smirnoff in the corner. My mouth pulled down at the corners, unsettled by his appearance as he people watched.

"I can relate."

Katyusha blinked her doe eyes at me. "Really? You're here with your brother, too?"

I shook my head, quickly regretting that as spikes of needles shook around my skull. "No. My friend," I gritted out.

Katyusha bobbed her head in understanding, eyes scouring the room with unabashed curiosity. "Oh! Where is she? He?"

I felt like a social pariah at the moment, accepting why Alfred wanted me to get out more often. Perhaps I really did need to put more effort into creating a social life. Then again, what point would that be when I was planning on leaving for college within the next year? The only real friend I needed was Alfred from this town.

"I'm not entirely sure, to be honest…" Lord, my head was killing me. I was starting to feel nausea build in my stomach when the thumping was creating a bit of blurred edges around my vision.

It was then that I felt a cool palm against my clammy forehead. I stilled, wondering if I was being a little delirious, what with the bass beating in the background and constant motion of bodies around. My head tilted up and I gazed through the fray of my bangs at Katyusha, a girl who I had only met five minutes ago, who had a crinkle between her eyebrows as she watched me with unadulterated concern.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked, her smooth fingers brushing aside my clumped hair. It felt soothing, outrageously, and I unconsciously moved into that touch for a brief moment. "Your forehead's very hot and sweaty. Are you sick?"

"No," I gulped and took a deep breath, closing my eyes in a wince. "I have – I just have a headache. I'll be fine."

"Should I try to find you some aspirin?" Katyusha asked, urging me to open my eyes. She was frowning now, eyes dancing around my sweaty face. "Arthur, you don't look so good."

I blinked blearily, jaw clenched and teeth tight against each other as another throb hit me. In an attempt to quell her random distress, I reached up for her wrist to remove her hand from my face, intent on simply making it to midnight and hightailing it out of here without much incident. At this point Alfred or no Alfred was starting to sound appealing.

"What's going on?"

One sentence broke through the string of cords from the music playing, pushing aside even the gentle coaxing of a surprisingly generous girl that, under better circumstances, I would appreciate participating in a real conversation with. Alfred's voice tended to demand attention from whoever was in the vicinity.

I looked up, straightening my spine as my fingers curled around Katyusha's small wrist, my heart caught in my throat. Alfred stood at the end of the alcove, a strange expression of alarm and confusion on his face as he glanced between the two of us. Alfred pursed his lips, then, eyebrows slowly furrowing when they landed on the busty female touching me. I flashed back to the other night with the tequila and the awkward conversations and Mr. Jones looking at me with those eyes that made my chest ache with something exhilaratingly petrifying.

Katyusha jolted when I scurried to my feet, removing myself from her presence and nearly losing my balance altogether. I placed my hand over my mouth, forcing back bile that started to come up from such an abrupt movement. Alfred moved forward, looking uncertain but stopping himself. Instead, he turned his attention to Katyusha, expression somewhat guarded.

"What'd you do?"

"I didn't –" She started.

"I haven't been feeling well," I interjected, squinting at Alfred. Even through the hazy pain I managed to see the wave of guilt that twitched across Alfred's face. "She was concerned."

Alfred's eyes flitted to Katyusha once more before moving forward and placing his hand between my shoulder blades. I tensed until his palm smoothed out, my body relaxing when I heard Alfred's silent promise of assistance. I shut my eyes and felt the vibrations from Alfred's chest when he talked. "I'm going to get him some water."

I vaguely heard Katyusha mutter an agreement before Alfred started guiding me through the crowd of people towards the kitchen. He didn't say anything and I was thankful, nothing but the external noise taking over the situation. In some sick sort of way, I was even a bit grateful for the pain splitting my skull. It was enough of a distraction from the swirling pool of emotions threatening to tear my chest apart. I didn't want to know what Alfred was thinking right now. I didn't want to know why he looked so disappointed, though deep down I had a feeling.

When we stopped moving and I felt Alfred's hand leave my back, I opened my eyes slowly, glancing at Alfred in confusion. Without being supported by his body, it took me a second to realize he had been talking to someone for a while. Ugh, what now? Wasn't this night bad enough?

My vision changed to whoever he was addressing and my headache deepened, if possible.

I recognized the burly brunette as one of Alfred's high school football pals, and he was drunk off his ass and poking at Alfred's chest. The force wasn't enough to budge Alfred, but whatever he was saying was causing something dark to form behind Alfred's gaze.

"I just want to get some water, Ryan. Please move and I can get you some, too," Alfred muttered, trying to stay calm. I knew it was a façade, though, because I recalled this boy being one of the first of Alfred's friends to call him unstable after his suicide attempt.

"What are you, my mom?" Ryan laughed, words slurred together even in the most simplistic of sentences. "Jesus, Jones, I didn't think I'd even see you around anymore. You just split and hid under a rock or something. They're letting you in kitchens _unsupervised_ now?"

_Mother fucker_ –

A muscle in Alfred's jaw twitched but he didn't flee. Instead, Alfred gently grabbed the bend in my elbow and tried to guide me around the hulking male. Ryan, in his intoxicated stupor, did not know when to let well enough alone. He stuck his arm out, nearly smacking me in the face, and Alfred balked.

"Careful–"

"Tell me something. I just wanna see," Ryan grinned, surely thinking his comments were all in good-natured fun. His hand snagged onto Alfred's arm, pulling up his jacket sleeve. Alfred's eyes became the size of dinner plates, forced to relive some disgusting high school trauma in a dark hallway at some party even after all his progress. I sucked a breath of air between my teeth, my heart hammering at how quickly this situation deteriorated. The look of fear on Alfred's face caused a jolt of pain to flare in my heart. "You were all sweatshirts in school, man. I wanna see your arm–"

I stumbled against the wall when Alfred pushed me back, a gust of air hitting my face when he spun, agile and quick like a tightly coiled snake, his fist smashing into Ryan's nose with more force than I thought Alfred capable of possessing. The wall of a man went down like a brick house, a sickly crack echoing out for a brief moment in the lull of the music, blood spurting like a fire hose.

Ryan gasped, clasping his broken nose, no doubt, and stared up at Alfred with a sense of awe; Alfred, who was wound so tight, his posture absolutely rigid as he took in gulps of air to maintain the adrenaline. His eyes were wide, almost bulging from his face, horror etched into his features.

"Don't touch me," Alfred grit out before spinning on his heel, dragging me forcefully down the remainder of the hallway and into the kitchen. The light change was drastic, and I withdrew into myself for a moment before what just happened started to sink in. I pushed past the pain in my head and looked at Alfred, his hip propped against the counter, hand cradling a bloody cast.

I gawked. "Alfred!"

Alfred's head that had been bowed shot up, watching me with surprise, as if he forgot I was there in the first place. His vision followed mine, and it was then that he became aware of which hand he punched his former friend with. The cast was cracked down the side, Alfred's fingers a strange purple color under the mixture of blood that was sure to be Ryan's and his own. He stared at it, almost mystified. It was his turn to take a deep breath before he smiled at me.

"God, Arthur, I think I might puke."

I blinked at him, unsure of how to let this night compute, before springing to life and rushing him to the sink. Alfred exhaled deeply with a breathy chuckle and spit into the metal sink, resting his forehead against the tap. I let him take a few more breaths before he lightly patted my hands back and stood up to look at me. I stared at him, waiting for him to say something or instruct me on what to do. Alfred looked away briefly, bringing his attention back just as quick to smile, only the barest whisper of teeth present.

"Man, that was fucked up," he said, attempting to alleviate some of the tension in the room. I furrowed my brow and cautiously pulled his hand from the one he was cradling it with. "I didn't think I'd hit him. Fuck, he's so gonna kick my ass later. I bet money on it."

"He deserved it," I said, my voice rough around the edges. "You need to put ice on this. Maybe stitches, too, you moron."

"But it felt good," Alfred continued, watching me gently pull his bloody fingers apart. His fingers flexed in mine and I bit my lip. "Not after. After hurts like – shit, my hand hurts! I shouldn't have done it, though. Violence doesn't – He just caught me off-guard. How was I supposed to know – Arthur, I'm gonna be _sick_."

Alfred's intact hand came down to rest on mine and he squeezed, willing me to look up at him. I couldn't read what exactly it was he was feeling, but the moment our eyes met, Alfred's eyebrows shot into his hairline. I was still wincing, after all.

"Sick! Right, you're sick. I'm sorry! Water – And aspirin. I'll get you some aspirin!" Alfred announced, tripping over his own feet on his way to the refrigerator. It took him the equivalent of a million years to locate a glass and figure out how to get the ice to work from the machine, but soon we found ourselves standing across from each other at the counter, doing all we could to avoid eye contact.

I could still hear people laughing and yelling from down the hallway, but the throbbing in my head wasn't so unbearable after giving the drugs a little while to work. Alfred was holding an icepack wrapped in a rag around his hand, worrying at his lip like a child. I wondered if he was thinking about what he was going to tell his mother when he returned home, or if he was just worrying over getting another cast put on longer. Even from this distance I could see his fingers swelling.

"If you really weren't feeling great, you shoulda said something."

I glanced towards Alfred, watching him eye me dejectedly. I snorted, fingers pressing against my temple. "I thought I did when I said I was sick."

"Well, how was I supposed to know?"

"Does your definition of sick differ from others?" I asked, smirking half-heartedly. Alfred simply pouted, holding his hand closer to his chest.

"Sorry," he muttered awkwardly.

I placed my elbows against the Beilschmidt's marble counter and shook my head. "It's not an issue. That's what friends are for."

Alfred looked at me then, and as I started to decipher the meaning behind that emotion I never could place in Alfred's eyes, my skin starting to crawl and body slowly standing straight, the chanting of the New Year rang out from the other side of the house. I continued to watch Alfred, his expression so strange and foreign, yet so common recently, like he wasn't even aware he was wearing it since the night he left for college. The counting grew louder, and with the screams of "Happy New Year" and Auld Lang Syne flowing through the speakers placed throughout the house, something clicked.

Alfred noticed, too, for his eyes jumped away, round and horrified.

_That's what friends are for. _

_I for one would be proud to call you my friend._

_We were best friends, after all._

I uncomfortably coughed into my arm, pretending I hadn't seen it. Hell, maybe if I insisted that I hadn't seen it, it would become true. Alfred refused to meet my gaze until I started to move across the kitchen. He looked at me curiously before I weakly gestured to the doorway. "We should get going. I don't feel well and your hand… needs looking after."

"R-right." Alfred nodded, trotting after me. I noticed from then on Alfred kept his distance when we stood by each other. I certainly didn't complain. Things were starting to get out of control very fast, and I didn't know if I could stop these piling instances that seemed to be breaking our friendship apart.

And as I lay in bed that night, staring at my ceiling, my heart began to pound.

It had only been there a second, but I saw something that terrified me in Alfred's eyes.

For some reason, the word friend was a trigger, and he didn't seem to like it used and verbalized anymore. To any sane person that would've been devastating to hear that their closest friend felt that way, but to me… That thought alone was invigorating.

Apparently I wasn't very sane at all.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Notes<em>: Rare to put an author's note at the bottom, but I can very much see Arthur just laying in bed that night singing Auld Lang Syne quietly to himself. Seems appropriate (Old Long Ago), lol. Anyway, sorry for the late update. It's starting to progress like a snowball rolling down a hill. Realization, denial, acceptance ; )

Ps: Shout out to my boy, Rob Burns, who wrote the song. He's my ancestor. Sorry, and happy late New Years!


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Notes_: Sorry for the delay. I've been busy and recently started really getting back into the Hetalia community. I hope you guys enjoy this update. There's drama up the wazoo

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><p><em>Deep inside your soul there's a hole you don't wanna see<em>  
><em>Every single day what you say makes no sense to me<em>  
><em>Even though I try, I can't get my head around you<em>

- Offspring, (Can't Get My) Head Around You

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><p>I had never felt so tense watching a football game in all my life as I sat on Alfred's sofa, waiting for him to emerge from the bathroom so we could leave for my family's New Year dinner. I shifted uncomfortably, eyes glancing to the side at Mr. Jones, his broad figure adjourning the opposite end of the couch, beer casually resting in hand. He didn't seem jarred by the silence, other than that of the game on the telly.<p>

My fingers curled into my pants, neck craning to see if there was any movement down the hallway. There was none, to my disdain.

"So . . ."

Brilliant. If that didn't make Alfred's rough-around-the-edges-and-probably-everywhere-els e-too father open up, then I didn't know _what_ would.

I glanced at Mr. Jones, his eyes never leaving the television, and swallowed the spit in my mouth. "Made any New Year resolutions?"

Mr. Jones did move then, slowly taking a sip from the Budweiser spout. "Not this year."

"Why not?"

Blue eyes moved to look at me and I halted, lips pursed. They were almost like Alfred's, but I noticed there was no glimmer there. I briefly wondered if he'd ever had it when he was younger, somehow courting Alfred's mother in that exuberant way that Alfred handled people, but then they were focused back on the television.

He shrugged and took another sip of beer.

"Hey, ready to go?" Alfred asked, bounding out of nowhere with a smile on his face and a waft of familiar cologne assaulting my senses.

"God, yes," I blurted quickly under my breath, getting up from my seat and rigidly nodding at Calvin Jones. He turned his attention to Alfred and eyed the leather jacket hung on his body. I'd never seen it before so it looked brand new.

"That one of mine?"

Alfred looked down and held out his arms, teeth biting into his lip as he smiled at his father. "Yeah, mine's a little dirty. I won't ruin it, though. Promise."

Mr. Jones ran his eyes over his son, finally silently approving of how easily the jacket complimented Alfred's form. "Have fun."

Alfred nodded and looped his hand around my shoulders to guide me out of his house. I peered over my shoulder, a knot forming in my throat, but Mr. Jones had already returned back to the game, not giving our presence a second thought. When we were outside, immersed in the frigid air of January, I let out the breath I'd been holding.

"You're cruel for doing that to me," I admitted.

Alfred laughed, meandering towards his truck. "What? Ah, he's quite the chatterbox, huh? Talk your ear off, did he?"

"It isn't funny. I thought I would suffocate in that thick air," I said, shaking my head and getting my nerves back when climbing into the passenger seat. I didn't like being around Alfred's father for obvious reasons. I knew Alfred had the same, for they never spoke more than a handful of words to each other any time I had seen them interact. There was just something about his company that made a cold sweat grip a person's neck.

"Sorry. I'll remember that. So, chicken or fish?" asked Alfred cheerfully, eyes shining as he regarded me. I faltered.

"Lamb."

"Oh, bleck."

* * *

><p>Dinner was relatively uneventful. It was nothing but my parents talking incessantly while Alfred quietly nodded and listened, a nice switch for a change, and Alfred eating every last morsel my mother put in front of him, whether it pleased his taste buds or otherwise. He was very fond of my mother, and I had yet to see him do anything that would displease her.<p>

Despite the fact that she had gone through all of the trouble to make such a decked out meal, something I was jealous of regarding my lacking abilities in a kitchen, I couldn't enjoy it as much as I would have liked, considering how I was still getting over the flu and everything tasted like watered down plastic.

When we had finished eating we cleared our plates. But before I could make for my bedroom my mother spoke up.

"Could you boys watch Peter and his friend for a moment? I need to do these dishes and he always finds a way to get into trouble if not properly supervised," my mother asked, hands full of the lamb that was torn to shreds. I grimaced, eyes slipping to my younger brother in disdain. Peter grinned at me and took off down the hallway with his partner in crime. He had invited one of his little friends from primary school over as well, and I could easily admit that I didn't like the two of them together. They were so . . . _rambunctious_.

"I don't think –"

"Sure thing, Mrs. K!" Alfred chimed, smile splitting his face as he handed her his plate. My mother grinned one to match Alfred's, taking the dirtied dish and running her fingers playfully through his hair. I watched in silence, not amused.

"What a nice kid. Honey, don't you think Alfred's a nice kid?" she asked my father, who was sitting at the table on the phone. He put his hand over the speaker to add quickly, "The nicest!" before resuming his conversation with his associate who had called moments before.

Alfred's chest seemed to puff up and I wanted to gag.

"Oh, please. There is no need to suck up like a brat trying to get permission from a girl's parents to marry her."

Alfred flung an arm around my shoulders, giving a tight squeeze and lingering there with a laugh. "Aren't _you_ getting ahead of yourself. Like I'd ask for your hand over a messy lamb carcass."

My lips pursed and stomach squirmed, but I stayed rooted to the floor, not quite feeling the need to push Alfred away and cease the contact.

"You should be more like Alfred, Arthur. He's lovely," my mother said, crinkling her nose at us with a snicker. I deadpanned.

"Yes, I should break my wrist falling from a roof like a buffoon, too," I said, rolling my eyes. "In any case, I don't wish to watch Peter. What would I do with them?" I asked, finally shrugging Alfred off and rubbing my temple at the persistent headache.

"Take them to the park before it gets dark. Peter loves the snow."

"_Adores _the snow!" my father added, then went back on his mobile.

"C'mon, Arthur. Work off those calories," Alfred nudged, grinning at my sour expression. He picked up the barbeque sauce from the counter and wiggled it in front of my face, like it would entice me. "I'll make you a snow cone. Mmm, am I right?"

"Barbeque snow cones."

"Mmmm," he hummed, raising his eyebrows. I sighed dramatically and heaved my shoulders.

"Very well. I'll go get them," I grumbled, retreating to Peter's room where I could hear them playing cowboys and 'shooting' at each other. This was going to be a long evening.

And it very much was a long evening. Peter and his friend had an unnatural aversion of the sidewalk and spent most of the walk to the park in the street. By the third time I was nearly vibrating with annoyance, while Alfred took it in stride and casually scooped them up whenever he spotted one drifting into the busy street.

"Chill out, dude. They're just goofin' around," Alfred said, plopping Peter's friend Dylan back onto the walkway. The brunette snickered and pattered away after my brother, who was too far down the street for my liking.

"Slow down!" I hollered, fingers clenching at my sides when they ignored me. I bristled when I even saw Peter stick his tongue out at me with a disturbing facial expression. I seethed and Alfred laughed.

"Not a kid person I take it?"

"Hardly." I paused, considering. "Well-behaved children don't bother me," I corrected.

"Just remember that you were their age once, too."

I regarded Alfred with a bland pull of my lips that made his eyes wrinkle around the corners in a smile. "You're calling me a hypocrite?"

"I thought that was obvious," he teased, ruffling my hair in the same manner my mother did to him every so often. I hissed and pushed his hand away, face feeling warm despite the cold flow of air surrounding us.

"I'll have you know I was much more respectful when I was Peter's age. I didn't stick my nose into places they didn't belong and for the love of God, stay on the pathway!" I yelled, seeing Peter jump into the bike lane yet again. Alfred patted my back reassuringly, moving forward to retrieve the insufferable child.

"I'll get him, I'll get him. Yo, Pete! Don't think I won't carry you by your scruff in front of your hommie!"

Alfred darted forward and, in spite of the shrinking patience I was having with my brother for blatantly disobeying, I did have to revel in how well Alfred was with children. He made obscene noises and overdramatized gestures that made Peter and Dylan laugh until their sides must've hurt. Peter tried to outrun Alfred but was no match for Alfred's speed and power. He scooped him up by his torso and held him under his arm, eyes turning to me with a look of triumph.

"You're wearing me down, kid," Alfred admitted breathlessly, puffs of white flowing from his lips when he ventured back to the sidewalk. Dylan snickered beside Alfred and pointed at Peter, who was trying his hardest to frown but was failing miserably.

"You cheat," said Peter.

"Bull spit. My legs are just longer."

"Stop going into the street. I'll make a leash child out of you before the day is over if I have to," I warned, completely serious. I'd tie my shoelaces together to fashion one if need be.

"You're no fun," Peter pouted, wiggling abruptly to get Alfred to cease his hold. His frown was starting to appear more genuine when noticing Dylan was laughing at him. Alfred had only caught Dylan once, whereas the rest was Peter's failings to get away. Alfred watched the two with round eyes of amusement, clearly finding this enjoyable.

"I thought you said you were the fastest kid in class, Peter, but your brother keeps catching you like it's nothing," Dylan mocked in good fun, no ill intent behind his words; it was merely a playful barb that caused Peter's face to turn scarlet in mortification and Alfred to stop smiling, blinking his eyes in what appeared to be surprise.

"He's _not_ my brother –!"

"I'm _not _their brother –!"

It was my turn to feel surprised when they both exclaimed that outright, rather adamantly. I halted, joining Dylan in his silence as my eyes slid back and forth between my brother and my friend, both of their frowns and large eyes directed at the small brunette beside them, Dylan clearly not expecting that sort of response.

Frankly, neither did I.

"He's Arthur's friend," Peter mumbled after a tense moment, grabbing Dylan's arm quickly and dragging him away from us with his brow furrowed and lip poking out. "He's just here a lot."

"That's weird," Dylan responded, the two of them trotting ahead when the park came into view.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, awkwardly turning to see Alfred's eyes watching after the two boys, his expression painted with alarm. My hands started to sweat when I surmised that he hadn't meant to sound so defensive. Hell, I don't even think he meant to say that at all when the atmosphere had been so carefree a moment ago.

He shifted and sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. "Kids, huh?" he muttered with a small laugh. I tried to relieve the sudden agitation in the air with a small laugh of my own.

"You should see your face."

Blue eyes darted away and I felt something stir in my chest when Alfred's pallor shifted to a more red based color palette. "I'd rather not."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and resumed walking towards the park, albeit his pace was a bit brisker when he reached the grass, his sneakers kicking up snow as he did so. I didn't try to keep up with him, but merely followed suit, watching his back carefully as Alfred made his way to the swing set.

Peter and Dylan were making a snowman, their teasing already forgotten. I rubbed my wrist over my frozen nose, watching them, wishing it would be that simple with me and Alfred. There were awkward moments that I was unable to completely brush aside piling higher and higher every day. It was really putting a strain on our relationship.

I always surmised that if they were ignored, they would eventually go away. I was seeing now that going about it that way wasn't working. And as frightening as the idea seemed, I decided to take the high road and at least touch up on the subject. I did so by taking a seat in the adjourning swing next to my friend, observing Peter and kicking up tanbark in an attempt at something to do.

"Is the idea of being related such a terrible prospect?"

Alfred seemed to go rigid, and I ignored the flash in my mind that would've assumed it to be from the cold. He looked at me abruptly, crooked smile on his face. I'd spooked him.

"What? Dude, we don't even look anything alike."

"That's not what I asked."

Alfred faltered briefly until he held his position and grinned. I felt a pang in my chest and frowned when I noticed he was using the same plastic smile he had towards his friends back in high school. I didn't like that being directed at me.

"It just rubs me the wrong way. I don't know. I think we're just better as frie-" Alfred cleared his throat, unable to completely mask the stutter. "Friends. Arthur, we're friends. I don't want to be your brother; I want to be – we're _friends_."

Ouch. I nodded and looked away, hoping my face wasn't pinched as dreariness spread inside of me like spilled ink on a white canvas. Perhaps I should've just ignored it like usual. Alfred's insistence that we were just friends bothered me more than I thought it would. I didn't know why it would bother me in the first place, and that angered me. I wanted to be friends with Alfred. _He was my friend_.

I glanced discreetly at Alfred beside me and my eyes widened. Alfred was sitting with his shoulders hunched, eyes watching the boys play, but he looked –

He looked like each admission was a hit to the gut.

We were not normal friends, after all.

The rest of the evening until the sun started to set over the houses was quiet. I wasn't sure what Alfred was doing that entire time, but I practiced my skills at suppressing thoughts and hyperventilation. A revelation like this was enough to halt some people altogether, but even though I was abuzz with a flurry of emotions, I kept a calm visage for our friendship's sake.

Alfred would be going back to school in a couple of weeks. I didn't want to avoid him the rest of this trip because of whatever this was that was tainting it.

"I'm sure my mother has finished dishes," I spoke after the long silence, Alfred getting off of his swing rather quickly and rubbing the side of his arm. I mimicked him and stood as well, willing myself to channel some sort of acting ability that I was now jealous of that I knew Alfred possessed.

"Yeah. It's getting late anyway. I should probably get going."

I nodded, walking past Alfred before stopping, reaching out and patting him on the back. I went to get Peter but didn't disregard the lingering stare from Alfred that followed.

"Five more minutes," Dylan requested, gloves full of snow littered with grass and dirt.

"It will be dark before long. No," I said, shooing my brother and dusting the snow from Dylan's grasp. Alfred came up behind me, his chest nearly touching my back. I took a slow, steady breath and put Peter's fallen earmuffs over his reddened ears.

"You dropped your house key," Alfred said when I finally turned around, the two small boys throwing a fit and walking towards the sidewalk with irritated whines.

"Thank you," I muttered, opening my hand palm-up when Alfred placed my keys on it. His skin was cold against mine, fingers brushing the inner veins of my wrist until he pulled back suddenly, lips pursed.

"No problem."

The uncharacteristic silence was unsettling when making our way back to my home. The tension invading as we walked in the quiet reminded me of the throat-clogging effect that being in the presence of Mr. Jones invoked, and I found myself frowning quite noticeably the more I thought about it.

Beside me Alfred had his eyes fixed ahead and hands shoved into his coat pockets, expression unreadable. Five minutes of this and I'd had enough.

"Friend," I announced. Alfred started, rigid shoulders hiked high as he regarded me with confusion in his gaze.

"Huh?"

"Alfred, you're my friend." My brows furrowed when his lips tugged down minutely in an ugly display that didn't suit him at all. He tried to disguise it with a shrug and a cough as he averted his eyes.

"Yeah, I know, dude. What's up?"

I persisted, disregarding the bubbling anxiety inside of me. "You're my best friend."

"Yeah . . ."

"Alfred, I cherish your friendship."

"Arthur, what are you –"

"_Friends_."

"Jesus, Arthur, stop," Alfred demanded, outwardly scowling now, halting his walking in favor of eyeing me skeptically. "What the hell's up with you?"

I frowned back at him. He seemed to hesitate under my gaze and I took a step closer, jabbing his chest once with my finger. "Do you know how bloody insulting that is?" I asked, narrowing green eyes that were tracking the amplified marks of bewilderment on my friend's face. I hurried on before he could get any words out to make it worse. "Why have you been so put-off with this friendship?"

Nervousness. Hurt. Excitement. Fear. Anticipation.

Alfred sputtered. "I'm not –"

"Alfred, you flinch like a dog in a shock collar whenever I address you in such a manner."

He had the gall to curl his lip at me in response. "I do not."

"You're the best friend a guy could want." I wished to roll my eyes when Alfred jutted his chin up in the air in a subtle gesture, remaining steadfast. "One could say you're like a brother to –"

"Dude, lay off that," Alfred snapped, hackles abruptly raising, causing a bolt of energy to ricochet up my spine. I wetted my lips.

"Don't overreact."

"I'm not overreacting. Just don't call me that."

"Why?" I continued, raising my eyebrows at him.

"_Wh_ – It's creepy!" he cried, hands splayed out at his sides. Alfred did always seem to animate his arms when becoming victim to his emotion's control. "We're not brothers, Arthur. We're –"

"Friends?" I supplied. The flinch was back and my shoulders slumped when Alfred caught his body's betrayal. He chewed at his lower lip like bubblegum, fingers toying with the cuff of his jacket in a nervous habit not quite shaken from high school.

"Alfred, I tried to ignore it, but even you can't deny the rain cloud accompanying our get-togethers as of late," I said, trying to go about this gently. It was a task all in its own when I didn't even know what _it_ was. Alfred's change in posture was answer enough. I took that as a queue to continue. "Look, I don't know what I – If I did something to displease you can you tell me? I don't want this to become irreparable."

Alfred winced, his face the epitome of every kicked puppy mimicry ever conjured. "That's not – God, you didn't do anything," he groaned, burying his face in his hands with an overzealous moan of annoyance.

"It's not you, it's me," I said, a full-body sigh escaping my form, eyelids dipped in anything but enjoyment.

"Will you stop being such an ass?" he warned, though it sounded suspiciously like a plea. "You don't have to treat me like some kind of – Are you even listening? What are you doing?"

I waved Alfred away when a thought struck me, peering behind him, my eyes tracing the neighborhood quickly as he spoke. I noticed just then that the sunlight had withered almost completely, leaving us in the damp embrace of the night. "Where'd they go?"

Alfred stood up to his full height, most of his defensiveness bleeding out of him and following my line of sight. "Who?"

"It's too quiet. Where's Peter?" I couldn't see my brother or Dylan anymore, their bodies not present under the street lamps coming on one by one in what little sunlight there was left.

"They're right over," Alfred began, twisting around and coming up blank. He glanced around before running his fingers through his hair. "Well, shit."

"I'm going to kill that insufferable little twat," I hissed under a breath, stalking forward through the slush of the snow on the sidewalk.

"Doesn't he know where you live?" Alfred asked, coming up beside me, easily keeping up with my stomping, and the previous tension between us was temporarily forgotten now that there was a more pressing matter at hand. My mother was going to have me entertain a nonstop lecture on responsibility and bludgeon me for this; not necessarily in that order.

I scoffed. "He'd be lucky to remember where his head is when he wakes up in the morning."

I searched the winding streets of the neighborhood, occasionally calling for Peter like he was some sort of lost animal, Alfred throwing in a couple of "here boy's" and whistling. When the sun was entirely down for the day and my fingertips were turning a bruising purple from the cold, I found myself gritting my teeth with a different emotion. Alfred noticed this, too, and awkwardly put his hand on my shoulder in reassurance.

"They're probably already at your house. Don't sweat it," he said, but I scowled and pinched the bridge of my nose. "You wanna head back and see?"

"No. If they aren't and my mother sees me I may as well start sending out invitations to my funeral."

Alfred grinned, nudging me to look at him. "You got my R.S.V.P." I pushed his hand away with a shake of my head.

"Don't think she won't end you, as well," I muttered, heading out of the court that led us back to the park and down another pathway.

"Dude, no way. She loves me too much," Alfred beamed, and I hated how honest he sounded. It was true, I knew Alfred was in no real danger. If anything he would take the blame for this if we lost both of those boys; it was just how Alfred was. I didn't want him to do that and deal with the guilt for me so I persisted in our attempt to find them.

I started to tell him to shove his seemingly carefree attitude up a certain body orifice when my eyes caught sight of a flash of red across the street. When I turned I saw that it was Dylan's jacket, and the muffled sounds of their distraught and squabbling voices met my ears. Peter had begun to shove Dylan off the curb, his voice high and livid, when I stopped.

"Peter!"

They both grew silent and looked up. I could see tear tracks down my brother's pale cheeks and the tether inside me holding all my frustration gave way for a brief moment of relief. They were okay and that was all that mattered. It was, until the relief withered away under an avalanche of irritation and exasperation for being put through the distress of losing him somewhere.

"I am buying you both a leash for certain. What did I say about walking ahead? Do you know how long we've been looking for you?" I demanded, storming onto the black river of asphalt with clenched fists and quivering shoulders from the cold that was proving to be unbearable now. Peter's eyes grew large as he knew what I was capable of when my anger was invoked. Dylan looked up from where he sat in the bike lane and that was it. "And for all that is holy, get out of the bloody street!"

"Arthur!"

My feet stuttered when my words were drowned out by a long, blaring honk, two beams of light rapidly traveling up my body and blinding me. It was a moment of feeling like a deer caught in the headlights before arms tugged me with enough force to take me off my feet. I fell backwards into Alfred's lap, his hands holding me tightly to his chest with a vice-like grip of an anaconda. I winced and tried to take a breath but his grasp strained against my ribcage.

"Holy shit!" Dylan hollered, scurrying to his feet when Peter rushed passed him. I didn't even care that he'd cursed, my attention only on the retreating outline of the mustang speeding down the street with a few more honks until it was out of sight. My legs felt like jelly when I registered that I had almost been hit by that, and I sagged against Alfred, my back leaning heavily against him.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked, standing over me with Dylan, both appearing shocked and worried. I opened my mouth twice before I found my voice.

"Get out of the street."

They nodded frantically and darted for the sanctuary that was the sidewalk. I inhaled and counted to five before releasing it and shifting against the body behind me. When Alfred's grip didn't relinquish, I tapped his arm in a quick reminder to let go. He did not. "Alfred, while I appreciate you rescuing me from becoming another smear on the street," I paused when his arms tightened, "I think it's unwise to wait around for another vehicle to do the job properly."

"Jesus Christ," he said on a crumpled, tiny exhale. I twitched when the warm air of his mouth came in contact with the frozen skin behind my left ear. "_Fucking Christ_, Arthur." Alfred's hair was soft against me, and I noticed then that his knuckles were white against my jacket and his body was shaking like a leaf in the wind. I pursed my lips and patted his arm in a gesture of reassurance.

"I apologize," I muttered. "I should've looked before entering the street." Alfred shook his head harshly against me.

"Fuck him; he's an asshole. You didn't do shit, dude. That son of a – He didn't even tap the breaks!" Alfred growled, giving me one final squeeze before releasing me. Not a moment too soon, because I was starting to think I would bruise. The absence of Alfred beside me left me feeling much colder than I had before, but I managed to twist around and kneel beside him.

Alfred attempted to run his hand through his hair but the cast tugged uncomfortably at his bangs, causing him to hiss with a curse. He didn't meet my eyes and I hoped my face softened. I wasn't good at this sort of thing; contrary to popular belief, I didn't know how to deal with unhappiness. I could barely manage my own, let alone Alfred's.

"Are you alright?" I asked, wrapping my arms around my middle in a poor imitation of what had once been there only a moment ago. He frowned and flicked a stray pebble on the cement.

"I'm sorry."

My ears must've deceived me. "You're sorry? What for? You didn't try to run me over."

Alfred grumbled and got to his feet, and I mirrored him when I stood, seeking out his eyes. When he did look at me I stilled, unsure how to respond to the sudden guilt on his face. "Is this what you felt like? When you thought I would – when we became friends? Did I make you feel this nervous if I . . ."

I stiffened, understanding what he meant without him filling in the blanks. A flash of that afternoon before graduation, draped out of the side of my car door with my mobile in hand, flew behind my eyelids when I blinked, and I felt the echoes of a fear now dormant when I believed Alfred to still carry suicidal tendencies. Alfred must've noticed the abrupt grimness on my face because he wouldn't make eye-contact after that, his vision somewhere beyond my shoulder.

"Sorry," he repeated.

Alfred jolted when he was enveloped in a hug, his muscles taught when my arms looped around his back. My lips went back to their perpetual scowl as I hid my face in the leather of his father's jacket.

"Would you belt up already? I'm not a history professor so there's no point in examining the past. Don't be a broken record, mate," I explained, hoping my point got across. _I'm sorry for scaring you_.

Alfred hesitantly returned my embrace, the length of his arms pulling tight enough to be comforting. I swallowed heavily when his head dipped against the crease of my shoulder and neck, the hug becoming a different foreign entity I hadn't experienced with Alfred like this, when someone cleared their throat.

I shoved Alfred away with enough force to almost have him on his ass and adjusted the collar of my jacket. Peter and Dylan were staring at me, making my face heat up like an oven and my limbs all connect to the wrong nerves. I pointed down the street with a bark. "Start walking. Mum is going to be upset enough as it is."

Peter shrugged and motioned for Dylan to follow him, hands wiping the dried tears from his cheeks.

"I see what you mean," Dylan quietly said, and my gut churned. Taking a moment to collect myself, I looked at Alfred for direction. Unfortunately he had gone back into his shell, body language anything but inviting as he stared at a mailbox.

"We should go, too. Before they disappear again," I offered. Alfred nodded and we fell back into routine, his shoulders aligned with my own as we walked back to my house in silence. He stayed to watch a small portion of my mother's irate preaching before taking his leave. Alfred moved as if he wanted another hug, causing me to go rigid, before he backed away with hurried footsteps.

"Thanks for dinner. It was nice," he said with that plastic smile. I tried to copy it, failing miserably.

"Anytime. Drive safely."

I received a text when he got home okay fifteen minutes later. Even the smiling emoticon taunted me with its falsities.

* * *

><p>When Alfred did something, he threw his all into it. With sports he climbed his way to the top and made a name for himself at our high school by the end of his freshman year. With school work he studied morning, noon, and night to become valedictorian and get into a prestigious college. With his previous jobs he worked hard for long hours, becoming a well-rounded and desired employee in a matter of months.<p>

So, I didn't know why I was surprised that when Alfred started to become awkward dealing with our friendship that he did it to his utmost ability.

His texts were abrupt and to the point. His phone calls dwindled. His eye-contact was worrisome and he jumped like a newborn Chihuahua at any movement I made. It didn't help the fact that I was practically the same way, but I wasn't talking about me right now.

I had just gotten dropped off to work on another quiet car ride with him and had been blasé most of my shift when a familiar face moved up in the line and put a few shirts on the counter. I glanced up and stopped, coming face to face with Ryan so-and-so from the party on New Years. He observed me with no small amount of abhorrence, the skin around the binding on his nose a faded purple. It seemed that Alfred had actually broken his nose.

"How are you?" I asked out of habit, running my tongue over my teeth and scanning a shirt under the gun. Being under the attention of someone as large as Ryan made me experience a lot of trepidation. The male was at least a head taller than me and twice as wide.

"How do you think?" he responded, tone soaked with bitterness. He leaned the side of his hipbone against the counter and placed his palm flat. I glanced at it and could see the bulging of his veins under his skin, knowing that he had to have a strict workout regiment to make them protrude that way.

"Not too posh, then, I take it."

"Not shit, shrimp," he said with a click of his tongue against his teeth. I began to scan his items faster. "You and that shit-stain left me in the hallway like this," Ryan cursed, pointing with a jerk of his arm at Alfred's handiwork. I shrugged.

"To be fair, you were drunk."

"So?" Another shirt was placed in his bag.

"So, you were rattling on about something you shouldn't have and got reprimanded for it." Well, just standing behind a barrier and knowing Ryan couldn't do a damn thing about it was giving you enough confidence to speak some level of truth without fearing it to backlash.

"What, his stress release?" Ryan gawked, pushing off the stand with a raised eyebrow. I frowned but didn't rebuke him for his ignorance. "So because he likes to get off on hurting himself that gives him the right to smash my face in and ruin my shirt?" he demanded. That at least explained the new t-shirt apparel.

"_You grabbed him_," I said with a hushed tone, not wanting this to turn into an argument in the store. My fingers twisted in the fabric of a black button-up and I regarded Ryan gravely down the slope of my nose. "What was he supposed to do?"

"Not make it a federal case! Who the hell wails on someone out of the blue like that?" Ryan asked, towering over me with a twist of his lip.

"He didn't overreact. You were being an ass," I reminded with bile burning distractingly in my stomach. His eyes narrowed but I didn't retreat as I finished tallying up his order. "That will be $56.98 please."

Ryan pulled back into a standard, non-threatening distance, sending me a dirty look and fisting out some bills from his wallet. I rung him up on the register and gave him his change, handing his bag of clothing over quickly and hoping he would just leave. Ryan snatched them from my grasp with a harrumph.

"Yeah, well you better tell Al to watch his back, 'cause I'm gonna get his ass for this."

I frowned but watched him storm off, grateful that my manager wasn't around this time to see that tart display of barbarity. I knew Ryan wouldn't be happy with Alfred, if he remembered that it was Alfred who had done that at all, but his insinuation did strike something in me the wrong way. My eyebrows furrowed and I took it upon myself to text Alfred on my next break what had just transpired. He informed me he wasn't surprised.

How _surprising_.

I didn't pay much attention to Ryan's threats for the next few days until I was visiting Alfred at his home one afternoon, partaking in our new favorite past time of watching the telly on opposite ends of the room, rarely speaking a word. A quarter into some ridiculous cartoon on Nickelodeon that I didn't think Alfred even was paying attention to, his front door opened quite loudly, Matthew tossing his bag onto the ground and sniffing.

"Hey, bro," Alfred greeted, peering over the couch with a smile until it dropped off his face without so much as a warning. I glanced behind me and my stomach curled. "What the hell happened?" Alfred asked, jaw dropped and scrambling ungracefully to his brother's side. Matthew swatted his hovering hands away and wiped his lip.

Underneath that tress of long hair and winter attire, Matthew was positively black and blue.

"Leave me alone, Alfred," Matthew muttered, bypassing his gaping twin and heading towards the kitchen. I rose from my seat when Alfred hollered something of a protest and disappeared around the corner. When I made it to the entrance of the kitchen I halted, seeing that Mr. Jones's office door was open and he was watching me amongst the ruckus. I quietly eased into the kitchen where I could hear Alfred and Matthew bickering in snippets.

"Your lip's busted. And where's your scarf? Did you get mugged –"

"No, I did not get – This is your fault –"

"How is it my –"

"Thought I was you. What'd you do this time, Alfred –"

"I didn't know –"

"Crossed a line –"

"Don't do anything about it –"

"Alfred, just calm down," Matthew implored, rubbing his pinched face with a wet washcloth. He looked exhausted and I couldn't blame him. His eyes caught sight of me hovering awkwardly by the doorway and he looked away, sighing. Alfred was too involved to notice my presence and continued to hop from foot to foot like some energized civil servant about to miss a deadline.

"He beat the shit out of you, Matt!" Alfred cried, looking torn between anger and self-blame.

"Busting my lip and giving me a black eye isn't beating the shit out of me, Al," Matthew articulated weakly.

"That's still crossing a line."

"The point is that you did something to this guy and he thought I was you. It doesn't make a difference if he hit me, Alfred," Matthew said briskly, talking louder when Alfred was about to interrupt him. "You're even now."

"_Even_? What are you even saying?" Alfred laughed in disbelief.

"He thinks he got you back, so just leave it alone," Matthew spoke seriously, not wanting the matter to escalate. He knew his brother as much as I did, and I would bet money that we both could see Alfred doing something stupid over this. I could see where Matthew was coming from when he just wanted this to die. I did as well, but seeing Matthew's face and remembering the sour expression Ryan wore in the outlet store the other day . . .

"That's not even close to okay," Alfred protested.

"What are you going to do, fight him? Alfred, you already messed up your hand twice. I don't want you to have a stump there."

"_But Matt_ –"

I took a step back and started to retreat towards the sitting room once more, feeling as though I had no right to be in this familial dispute. I certainly would give Alfred a piece of my mind when we were alone, however. The prospect of Alfred's already damaged wrist becoming compromised for the third time in such a short while was inexcusable.

As I made it back to the archway where the kitchen met the hallway, my back collided with something solid. I jumped, turning around to see Mr. Jones looking down at me. My throat tightened somewhat and I rushed away to give him enough room for his personal space.

"Excuse me," I apologized, fully intending to withdraw to the sitting room, when Mr. Jones glanced over my shoulder into the kitchen where his children were fighting. I hesitated before deciding to speak over the rising pitch of Alfred's voice. "I'm not quite sure what's going on. I was just leaving."

"I heard," he said, voice deep and wearing an expression I couldn't place my finger on. I glanced at his open door for a moment, realizing it would've been impossible to ignore Alfred's voice from such a close proximity. When I looked back at Alfred's father his eyes were trained on me once more. "I don't approve."

I blinked at him before realizing he was referring to Alfred's words. I didn't know what to say when he agreed with Matthew on something. He didn't seem to want Alfred fighting this boy either, for obvious reasons, I assumed.

"Alfred thinks he's an invincible bloke," I muttered.

Calvin Jones shifted, a muscle in his jaw twitching minutely as he cocked his head ever so slightly at me. His shoulders squared and I may or may not have imagined his eyebrows lowering ever so slightly. "Alfred will do what he wants." I gave pause, pursing my lips. Of course he would. The look on his father's face after his suicide attempt rang with great clarity on that matter. "I mean you."

It was my turn to appear as an even greater fool when I stared at him in confusion, my nerves abuzz inside of me like a swarm of locusts under my skin. "Pardon?"

"I don't approve of you," he reiterated, and my world came to an utter halt like a bucket of ice water splashing over my head out in right field. His face didn't shift and he didn't lose eye-contact like I was so used to with his son these days. I let my mouth hang open slightly and blinked in a stupor, speechless. I hadn't been expecting that.

"Wh- Excuse me?" I breathed.

Mr. Jones placed his hand in his pocket and pulled out a carton of cigarettes and a lighter. "It's been loud since you've been coming around here. You bring this with you and I don't appreciate it," he explained, casually letting a cigarette rest against his lips as he placed the rest back in his pants. I took a few steady breaths and listened to Matthew slam a door and Alfred shout after him.

"I didn't – Sir, I apologize for the noise, but I haven't –" I floundered, desperate to extricate myself from this turn of events. Alfred's father didn't appear amused. He took a step forward and halted when he saw me take one back. Mr. Jones continued until he was beside me, leaning over the fewest of centimeters to speak.

"The sky was the limit. You're messing up my boys," he said, and then he was gone, nothing but the jingling of bells on the front door to ever prove we'd just been talking. I stood statue still, staring intently at the carpeting of the hallway for some time. My hands were sweating when I rubbed them over my face when my limbs seemed to thaw.

Bollocks. I was in over my head here.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Notes**_: This is it. This is the one.

* * *

><p><em>And I am feeling so small<em>  
><em>It was over my head<em>  
><em>I know nothing at all<em>

_And I will stumble and fall_  
><em>I'm still learning to love<em>  
><em>Just starting to crawl<em>

_Say something, I'm giving up on you_

- A Great Big World, Say Something

* * *

><p>It was difficult going back to the Jones residence after that fiasco in the kitchen. I'd be lying if I said Alfred's father's words hadn't kept me up at night. The enigma that Alfred's father made himself to be was starting to fade with every sentence he spoke to me. Mr. Jones was a completely different story than with Alfred's mother, an open book to the public with her tears and her paranoia.<p>

I could deal with Alfred's mother, to an extent.

I could deal with Alfred's brother.

I did not want to go back to that house where my heels would crunch down on eggshells. And yet I did, at the ignorance of my friend, with every invite he proffered. Alfred still remained glued to the opposite side of the furniture than I was, but he did not stop requesting to see me.

Some days we were alone, smothered in the awkward silences we created. Other times, Alfred's family lingered on the outer peripheral of the rooms we were in. His mother was cheerful and offered snacks, as per usual, and Mr. Jones silently read the newspaper or a magazine.

I did not want brutally honest with Alfred, but all the immediate members of the Jones family I had encountered were uncomfortable to be around in their own right. And a few weeks ago I would have said that Alfred was the outlier, had it not been for this rough patch we were going through.

One afternoon I had had my fill of it.

"Do you honestly think violence is the proper way to respond to this particular issue?" I asked, watching as he dropped a heavy gallon of milk into the shopping cart. Alfred checked off another item on his mother's grocery list and steered the cart further down the aisle.

Watching a large male like Alfred doing a plebian (and stereotypically feminine) task of grocery shopping was somewhat amusing. There were no words to properly describe how badly the cogs meshed.

"Say what?" he spoke, casting a glance over his shoulder distractedly. I slumped my shoulders in exasperation and followed after him.

"The situation with your brother?" I reminded, irritated in the way he avoided my gaze, preferring to eyeball the dairy products on the shelves. "The familial desire for vengeance? Ring any bells?"

"Familial _obligation_," he corrected. "And I thought we were done talking about this."

"No, _you_ were done talking about it," I reminded, "I have only begun to put in my two cents."

"Dude, you've put in, like, twenty dollars," Alfred laughed, his gums showing for a moment before his lips came back down. "You're going to talk my ears off, and then I'm going to look like humpty dumpty, but with a really awesome haircut."

"Don't be so humble. You'd still look nice," I said, brushing off his joke. I was too busy reading the ingredients on a pickle jar to really notice the way Alfred faltered, adjusting his glasses in embarrassment.

"Well, whatever," he muttered, tossing a package of cheese rather roughly into the cart, hurrying forward. I blinked owlishly after him, watching as my friend disappeared around the corner and into another aisle.

"Hey, do you think fat free really makes that big of a difference? I mean, I know my mom has it on the list, but we're just going to eat the same amount of calories anyway. We're guys." Alfred was at the end of this new aisle when I appeared. He was rummaging around different instant potato packages. I frowned, hating how he gravitated towards the exact opposite side of a room from me, regardless of what building we were in.

"What's the rush?" I asked, noting how he decided upon a box right as I was walking towards him, skirting to the next aisle.

Yes, this thing between us was strange, but I would much rather prefer for it to be strange two feet away from Alfred than twenty.

"Look, all I am suggesting is that you cool off and reconsider the logical answer to this Ryan situation, as well as your brother's wishes," I said, emerging behind Alfred, his torso leaning in one of the frozen food doors.

"Arthur," Alfred sighed, turning to look at me with exhausted eyes and a handful of frozen peas. I had to pause when he looked me directly in the eyes, a luxury that hadn't happened in a while that I dearly missed, I realized in that moment.

"I get that you're trying to look out for me and stuff, and that you don't want old wounds to open up," he carefully said, glancing at his wrist as an afterthought. His smile came out lopsided. "Literally and figuratively. And that's cool. I think it's . . . ," Alfred broke eye contact temporarily and coughed. "It's- It's sweet. _But_," he rushed, "there are just some things that have to happen. And even as my– Even you shouldn't butt in on some things, y'know?"

"I just don't see what it will _prove_," I stressed, enunciating every word as if it would get through to him if I talked slower, more diliberately.

Alfred stepped forward to put the peas into the shopping cart. He shrugged and gave me a withering smile. "I do, and that's enough."

The way Alfred spoke gave me the impression of a person reading a lengthy novel they were engrossed in, and finally reaching the last word on the last page before shutting it. I stared at him with a scrutinous gaze that made him fidget uncomfortably, willing him to be able to convey the meaning of his words without having to speak. Was this about standing up for his brother? Was this some way of relinquishing the old Alfred; the Alfred that was a false, built up prop of smiles and pleasantries by his peers? Or was this something deeper, like separating completely from the memories of self-harm, and Ryan was merely the outlet to release it on?

Did Alfred even think in larger pictures like that?

When his nose crinkled, I could see just how uneasy he felt with me looking at him like that. "Are you constipated?" he teased.

My eyes flicked down to the shopping cart handle as Alfred made his way around to the back of it, and I darted forward. I grabbed onto the bar just as he had, my hand partly covering one of his in the minimal space. He jumped, clearly not expecting that, but he didn't remove his hand immediately. Alfred simply cast a wide-eyed glance at me.

"I'll push for a while," I said calmly, though something inside me twisted and fluttered like a leaf in the wind. This feeling was unpleasant, but I wanted it. God, I loved this bittersweet roil in my stomach whenever Alfred made contact with my skin. It terrified me.

Alfred nodded, scuttling away from me and fumbling with the shopping list. He adjusted his glasses again, a habit I recognized as embarrassment over the course of our friendship, and trotted ahead of the cart to where I couldn't see his face.

"Don't go where I can't see you," I called. And to anyone passing us by it would look like a simple request to not get lost in the grocery mart. But I saw the way Alfred's shoulders adjusted and knew he understood exactly what I meant.

"Then keep up," he muttered before descending defiantly into the candy aisle.

* * *

><p>I wasn't a stranger to Alfred's calls or texts in the middle of the night. He had kept consistent since high school and made sure to do it near daily. It was fine tuned into my body now to wake up when I heard the familiar ring or buzz of my phone.<p>

Squinting my eye open and seeing the teal light pouring from the screen of my mobile, I heaved a mental sigh before sitting up and snatching the device from my nightstand. In the darkness of the night, at practically one in the morning, the light from my phone was blinding.

"What is it now . . . ?" I yawned, clicking open the new text.

My jaw nearly hit the floor.

_i won :P_

It wasn't hard to glean the meaning behind his words, but it was so _sudden_. The incident with his brother had only happened four days ago, and yet Alfred had already _acted on it_? I was already hurrying to type in my response.

_Where are you?_

The three minutes it took to get a response while I put my clothes on were torturous. The moment I heard the phone go off I was eagerly reading the message.

_the park. can u bring food?_

I stared at his request a moment before shaking my head and grabbing my house key. The walk to our park wasn't terribly far – only four blocks – but it was freezing in this weather. My pace was quick and impatient. By the time the outline of it came into view in the darkness I was shivering a good deal, pulling my collar closer to my neck.

I didn't see Alfred sitting on the frozen swing set, though. My eyes scanned the rest of the playground but I didn't have to look long to know where Alfred was when I heard a low rumbling. His red truck was idling on the curb, puffing out smog from his tailpipe.

My teeth were rattling when I opened the passenger door, tossing a grocery bag at him.

"You couldn't have picked me up?" I grumbled, placing my red, frozen hands to the heater vents. Alfred snickered quietly beside me and dug around the plastic sack, digging into the granola bars and chips.

I twisted in my seat to analyze his face in the dim lighting of the streetlights. He didn't look like I'd expected him to. His hair was tussled and the skin on his right cheek looked suspiciously inflamed, but aside from that Alfred was normal. I mentally scoffed.

_Normal._

Nothing about Alfred was normal.

"I figured you'd need the exercise," he joked around a mouthful. When he swallowed, he continued, a bit more carefully, "And I knew you'd be mad or something, so walking a couple blocks for you to cool off seemed like a better idea than pulling into your driveway when you're livid."

"I'm not livid," I denied. Alfred made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like disbelief. "I'm not," I repeated with a bit more tenacity. "And even if I was, excuse me for feeling that way when you disregarded everything I said and fought with Ryan – How did that even happen?"

Alfred's awkwardness and shame bled off when I mentioned Ryan's name, and he was back to trying to hide that excited smile he knew he shouldn't be wearing in the first place. "I saw him when I was getting dinner for the fam, and then he sorta came up to me and spat on me."

"He _spit_ on you?" I gawked.

"Uh-huh," Alfred answered in a sing-song tone, finishing up his chip bag and crumpling it in his fist. I noted the rawness of his knuckles and frowned. "So I asked him what his problem was, and one thing led to another and we set a time to meet up so we could get this whole thing over with. No cops, no parents, nothing to get us in trouble with other people. S'why I didn't tell you, cuz you'd'a came and broken it up."

"Of course I would've. You were –"

"Long story short, Ryan's all bark and no bite. He clocked me once, but I don't know if you noticed, but he's kind of a huge guy. Easy target that can't move that fast."

I digested this information and toyed with my fingers in my lap. "You didn't leave him there injured, like you did at that party, did you?" I asked suspiciously.

"His brother was there, so he took off with him." Alfred shrugged and looked out his window at nothing in particular. "Probably was embarrassed, but that's what happens when you run your mouth."

"Alfred," I sighed, placing my fingers to my temple. His eyes bounced back to me, but he still didn't make eye contact; he just stared at my forehead. "How do you know you just didn't make the situation worse? Ryan isn't exactly what you'd call an understanding bloke. What makes you think he won't harass you more after shaming him in front of his own family?"

Alfred shifted in his seat, the material of his coat making a sort of swishing noise against the leather of the chair. "I just do." The bottom corners of his lips tweaked down and I saw a bitterness flash behind his eyes briefly as he muttered, "He got me with me and my brother, and I got him with him and his. We're even."

"Is this an unwritten rule?" I questioned, leaning forward over the console in between us, trying to see any trace of mistruth in Alfred's face. He tensed up, looking at me with rounded eyes, his neck hunkering into his shoulders. His lips parted and then shut firmly as he waited for me to say anything else. I stared at him for a long moment, nothing but the purr of the engine keeping me grounded to reality, before I surrendered and looked away.

"Why do I keep believing you?" I muttered, placing my hand on the middle console but touching Alfred's instead. I glanced down and saw his fingers twitch, but he didn't wriggle out from under my hand's accidental pressure.

"Because that's what you do best," Alfred commented, a small laugh in his voice. I didn't realize how close we were, somehow gravitating towards the center of the car while Alfred told his ludicrous story, for when Alfred spoke his breath wafted across my face.

I could see how red his cheek was at this angle, knowing that it was going to bruise later. Without properly thinking, my hand when up and touched it. Alfred flinched, letting out a shaking exhale, looking frightened as all could be, but again, he didn't pull away. I knew that was odd for his behavior recently, but I was too caught up in the image of a fist plowing into his face to notice.

"What are you going to tell your mother?" I asked. He had to be running out of acceptable excuses by now. Alfred swallowed visibly and his hand flexed under mine.

"That – That I slipped on the ice on the walkway," he said quietly. I felt myself frowning, thinking over his excuse. My finger absentmindedly brushed over the wound, being careful not to harm him in my examination.

The hand under mine was becoming increasingly warm, but I chalked it up to the heated air coming through the vents.

"You know I hate when you are hurting, Alfred . . ."

I looked up to meet his gaze, surprised at how close he was for a moment, the words of approval for his lie on the tip of my tongue, when the hand beneath mine balled up into a fist suddenly, and Alfred's face became a blur.

I blinked, aware of the warmth on my face, the feeling of moisture against my lips, and realized that Alfred was kissing me.

My stomach shot up like a rocket before falling back down like debris, as if it couldn't break through the earth's pull and crumbled because of it. Nothing but a ball of emotions so powerful that they all tried to escape my throat at once remained. I felt breathless and lightheaded for that moment, it seeming like an eternity when I knew it had only been a couple of seconds.

In that instant I was clawing at his face, pushing him back with enough force that the car rocked a little when he thumped against the door. I plastered myself to my own door, watching him with a sense of horror as my heartbeat threatened to tear me apart. Alfred mirrored my expression, and I knew that he hadn't meant to do that in the first place.

But he still had done _it_.

Alfred _kissed_ me. Oh my _God_.

"_What the fuck are you doing_?!" I demanded, wondering how my vocal cords were working properly when I felt so lightheaded. I wanted to get a paper bag to breathe in to. I wanted fresh air. I wanted to be out of this suddenly painfully claustrophobic vehicle.

Alfred fumbled for his own words, trying to grasp the magnitude of what he had just done and failing miserably. "I-I'm – Arthur, I don't –"

"Why did you do that?" I asked, but the tone of my voice shattered any semblance of control I was pretending to have. My best friend had just kissed me and I didn't hate it. I vigorously rubbed my sleeve over my lips. "What made you think doing that was OK?"

I could see the panic in Alfred's movements as he sat up, the gears turning behind his eyes. "It was an accident. I shouldn't have – _Fuck_, I can't believe I . . ." He groaned loudly and buried his face in his hands.

I always fancied myself a supportive friend, and I did hate Alfred when he was hurting. He was clearly hurting now. I should help him. Talk to him.

"Jesus, Alfred. Do you know what you've just done?" I breathed, my throat clamping down on itself. This got him to hesitantly lift his distraught face from the sanctuary of his palms, unease carved into his features as if it had been there for years instead of seconds.

Friends don't deny friendships.

Friends don't avoid each other's gaze or sit across an entire room from each other.

Friends don't kiss.

My mind raced of how long Alfred had possibly harbored this idea; to kiss me. I didn't have much time to mull it over because something changed in his body language that had my guard up. He wetted his lips with a dangerous look in his eye.

"Alfred – "I started, as a warning, but he beat me to the punchline.

"I- I'm sorry. I think I like you."

Horror, elation, fear, betrayal, excitement. I was flooded with too many sensations at once, my head was starting to spin. In the end I found myself scowling at him and scrambling to get the doorknob to twist.

"I can't believe this."

Alfred saw my escape attempt and panicked, lunging across the console and my lap, pulling the door shut against my furtive attempts to keep it open.

"Piss off!"

"Arthur, hold up a sec – Ouch! Don't elbow me. Dude, just listen. Listen for a second!"

His build was larger than mine, and years of sports certainly had Alfred at an advantage. He managed to clasp his hand almost painfully around my own that was grasping the handle, and shoved my back against the door when he pulled it shut. I was trapped between a rock and a hard place, it seemed, forced to face this game against the static that had been clinging to us. I couldn't meet his eyes, feeling trapped.

I wasn't ready to admit this.

"I royally fucked up. I'm sorry," Alfred rambled, and I could hear the embarrassment and terror in his voice as he spoke. The arms that caged me, placed on either side of my head, trembled. "But don't run away. God, I do something this stupid and you bolt on me? No fuckin' way. You gotta let me fix this –"

"_How_?" I ordered. "How can you fix something that doesn't exist anymore?"

Alfred jolted, clearly distressed. "What do you mean?"

I rolled my eyes and shifted my legs as best I could when they were pinned under Alfred's weight. I could feel heat creeping up my neck and making breathing a more difficult task. "What you just did," I paused, swallowing heavily and looking him seriously in the eyes, "Kissing me –" Alfred couldn't hold my gaze. "It doesn't work that way. You can't just do that and not expect . . ."

Even I couldn't voice what felt like the friendship I knew and cherished had disappeared.

"Why would you do this, anyway?" I nearly pleaded, feeling betrayed that he'd cross a line that I needed him to stay behind. I couldn't handle these sorts of thoughts fluttering into my head at alarming rates. What would my parents think? How would this change our dynamic together? Alfred's parents –

Mr. Jones and his stony, judgmental eyes rose to the forefront and I shut my eyes tightly. Damn it.

"I didn't mean to, I said that already –"

"But you wanted to." It was an accusation. Alfred didn't speak up to deny it and my stomach squirmed.

"You've . . . You're just really important to me. And I've never had a friend like you who supports me and actually gives a shit for what feels like one hundred percent of the time," Alfred said, choosing to stare the glove box like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "And then you said you liked someone and something kinda smothered me inside. Like, I got angry about it. But I couldn't tell why and then when you'd smile and say stuff like you didn't like me hurt and that I was someone to look up to and everything, it made me feel happy, really happy, I've never been this happy and scared before like I wanted to barf a couple times because of it and I just don't know I didn't mean to like you, Arthur, fuck, _fuck_ –"

Alfred's sentences began to blend together until his voice tapered off and he had to remove one of his hands against the door to rub at his eyes, pushing his glasses into his hair.

My leg was starting to cramp under one of his knees but I didn't dare move. Not when Alfred was torn open so raw.

Alfred . . . liked me. There it was. The label my inner thoughts had been trying to avoid. I feared this word. It wasn't a bad word, but it changed everything. I feared change.

I didn't know how to deal with Alfred liking me.

I didn't know how to deal with liking him back.

"Don't cry," I muttered awkwardly.

Alfred stopped that snuffling noise he was making and looked at me. He looked exhausted and tired, but his eyes weren't red or full of tears. He took a couple of breaths before speaking.

"Do you hate me?"

The fear in his voice had something crack down something inside me and my arms moved of their own volition. I pulled him into a hug, one that caused him to tense up.

"The farthest thing from it. Wouldn't even dream of it," I reassured quietly into his shoulder, my fingers feeling wooden and stiff against the material of his jacket. "We'll figure something out, alright?"

Alfred relaxed in my hold at my words, pulling me close and burying his face in my neck. We didn't move. We didn't speak. I feared even a thought would shatter this fragile thing we now shared.

"Hey, Arthur," Alfred mumbled into the skin of my neck, the feeling of his lips against me sending tingles down my spine. "Who was that person you said you liked?"

Like a balloon losing helium, I sagged against Alfred's chest, chewing at my lip.

It wasn't a bad word, this label.

"Just some dumb kid I befriended in high school."

The sensation of Alfred's grinning teeth against me as he squeezed all the air out of my lungs had me wanting to vomit and cry and laugh all at once.

I liked Alfred.

This was it.


End file.
